


Rubicon

by OKami_hu



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Multi, Spark Bond, Tactile Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 07:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 46
Words: 113,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History repeats itself - old customs get rediscovered when a little Bot decides to follow his Spark's calling. What is bonding, and why was it forgotten? (I'm proud to say that back in the days in the appropriate threads of 4chan, this fic was recommended)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Birds And Bots 01

**Author's Note:**

> Another oldie but goodie for the TF fans' reading pleasure. =3 This was co-authored by me and a friend who went under several names (ZeldaMaster37, kujazlilmage and Sanity-Anchemist). I have no idea where life had carried her ever since. 
> 
> The story was written in time with the first airing of TF: Animated, and follows the first two seasons closely, also tapping into the third. (Essentially, we just added a lot of smut to the plot.) Needless to say, we both found the abrupt ending rather upsetting.
> 
> While the story was never finished, since my co-author started college and we also somewhat fell out of fandom, it can be considered closed; no major plotlines were left open. Also, this stuff is long. You'll have plenty to read. ^^

_"Rubicon": A limit that, when passed or exceeded, permits no return and typically results in an irrevocable commitment._

Peace and silence. The young Optimus Prime leaned back on the comfortable sofa and realized that he hadn’t had the opportunity to relax and think about nothing in particular since quite a long time ago. His hand idly wandered to his chestplate and he offlined his optics for a moment. Thank Primus he was actually able to do that...that fight with the Decepticon Starscream a couple of weeks ago actually killed him. But the almighty Allspark decided that he was not ready to go yet.

Since the battle, they worked on that building the little Sari offered them, and now it was quite a homely headquarter. They all had their own rooms, a workshop, a neat med bay for Ratchet, and everything Earth could offer, including TV, radio and Internet. Slowly, they were adapting to this planet. It was so amazing in so many ways; so different and intriguing. Each of them found something here, which entertained them with no end—video games, libraries or, in Prowl's case, endless roads and solitude.

Optimus let out a small sigh, and smiled, just to himself. They had a lot to learn still, all of them.

The Autobots were slowly but surely adapting to their new way of life. While none could yet comfortably call this place "home", because of the vast number of things to discover, they were able to keep occupied. In particular, many of these curiosities belonged to studying the human race; but among all of the Autobots, none took more interest in observing said humans than Bumblebee.

Because Bee spent most of his days in the company of Sari, he was able to scope out a great deal of things; as a result, it was highly possible (and 100% probable) that Bumblebee would learn more about the humans in an hour than the rest of the team combined would find out in a day. His optics would light up each time he learned something new, and he was always excited to share the information he gathered. Sometimes the Autobots found use or entertainment in it...and sometimes not.

But today, Bumblebee was a little apprehensive about the questions mulling through his processors. It had started much earlier, some hours ago when he was picking Sari up from school. She shared her stories with him as she always did, speaking about "boyfriends" and "girlfriends." Bee innocently inquired into what these so-called human species were, and Sari laughed at him, and explained. She said that sometimes these Boyfriends and Girlfriends grew up and got "married" and had "children." Marriage...Bumblebee somewhat understood marriage. He'd heard tell of 'bonding' back on Cybertron, and the way Sari explained it, that seemed similar enough for comparison.

But then Bumblebee asked about Children, and Sari's dark skin blushed deep even as she was grinning wickedly and whispered in his audios like it was some sort of dirty secret.

Bumblebee managed to make it to Prime's quarters, and stared up at the tall open doorway with a twisted look of confusion on his faceplates, optics blinking. He knew he probably shouldn't interrupt Prime...the poor guy barely got a break...but he had to talk to someone about it, and considering how the others were, Prime seemed the only reasonable option.

Bee peered into the doorway, spotting his young leader reclining on a massive sofa. "Uhh...hey...Optimus?"

The leader of the small team immediately perked up, sitting up straight, smiling at his comrade. He liked all of them of course, in different ways, but Bee was probably closest to his spark regardless of the yellow mech's recklessness. Optimus patted the comfortable furniture, inviting his youngest companion closer. "Hello, Bumblebee. Come, sit. Is there a problem?" While the little one sometimes got carried away, and could be quite free with his opinion, disregarding authority, he was also a sharp youngling, and a refreshing conversationalist. One could always count on him having the freshest news and the most interesting bits of information.

"Well, not really," Bumblebee laughed nervously, obliging Prime's invitation, walking towards the plush couch and hopping up beside his taller leader. "Just a little...by something I heard..." his faceplates twisted about in odd expressions, "the humans call it being 'weirded out'?"

Optimus frowned lightly. "I think I know what you mean, but...what caused it? I know this planet can be confusing. I have to admit, there are a serious number of things I don't seem to get entirely. Can I help you any way? You'd like to talk about it? If nothing else, we can try to find a solution together."

Bumblebee tilted his head, frowning, deep in thought. After a moment, he looked up at Optimus, and, unblinking, asked:

"Did Sari ever tell you about 'sex'?"

Optimus' optics widened, and he looked away, poking his audio-sensors, like every time he was nervous. "I, umm, I asked her about organic reproduction, yes. But I haven't really dwelled into the topic. You're right, their ways are indeed weird."

"That's what I said," Bumblebee replied. "I told Sari it was strange, and she thought I was silly." He paused, fidgeting as he grew nervous again. There was something else that she mentioned that had really made it awkward, but he didn't say that part aloud just yet.  
"But now it...won't get out of my head, y'know. Because she said she didn't know a lot about it herself, just what her parents told her. So I'm thinking about looking into it..."

"Looking...? Oh, I suppose, on the Internet." Optimus nodded. "You don't have to ask permission, of course. If you'd like to, go ahead. I can understand that something so different from the customs of our race intrigues you. You're a curious little mech." He smiled, and on a sudden impulse, lightly patted Bee's head—as he had seen humans doing it to their offspring. "Sari once said we have a lot to learn about humans," he added, suspecting maybe the girl involuntarily offended Bee a bit, "but she has a lot to learn about us as well."

Bumblebee lowered his head a bit sheepishly when Optimus patted it, and when he spoke, he shifted about again, pulling his legs up and crossing them. "It would help if she'd ask us questions I know how to answer," he mumbled.

"Hmm? What kind of questions does she ask?" True, Sari was most comfortable with Bumblebee; she talked to all of them if she and they both had the time, and she talked a lot, but obviously she got along with the youngest of the team the best.

Bee made an uncomfortable grimace, although he seemed more disappointed than anything else—if it could compete with his embarrassment.

"...She, uh..." he glanced at his leader sideways. “Well, after I called her human ways weird...she asked me how we...y'know...'have sex'."

Optimus shifted in his seat a bit. "We don't have sex," he said, shrugging lightly. "That is an organic way to create new life, and we transformers are created by the Allspark's power. You know that. We assemble protoforms, and the Allspark animates them. We don't have any use of... mating rituals. We don't even have...reproductive organs."

"Yeah, but humans don't always use sex for reproduction," Bumblebee replied. "I looked that much up already. They said it feels really good..."

"Well, logically approached, it makes sense. After all, if it didn’t, then they would avoid doing it—" Optimus stopped. "Really...? They go through the reproduction process just for... fun?" Now, that was weird...what about the reproduction matter? And how did the humans keep their females from conceiving? He blinked at Bee and something clicked suddenly. "You'd like to do the research with me, wouldn’t you."

Bumblebee grinned rather mischievously. "Oh, you don't have to, but the help would be nice..."

Optimus shook his head, slightly amused. "We don't have any pressing matters right now, so I think we can sacrifice some of our time for the sake of better understanding. Come then, my computer is already integrated into the network. We can 'surf' the Internet for any appropriate information. I have to admit, I'm somewhat curious, too."

"Yes!" Bumblebee pumped a fist and hopped down off the couch, eagerly finding the way to Optimus' computer. Ah, the power of suggestion. At least now he wouldn't be looking at such strange material on his own.

The young leader couldn't help but smile. Bee's enthusiasm was refreshing indeed after Prowl's detached manners, Ratchet's grumbling and Bulkhead's kind, well-mannered behavior. He was like a miniature sun, always shining.

He pulled another chair in front of the desk and settled down, his fingers dancing on the keyboard. He accessed the human Internet, and after some hesitation, he typed 'sex' into the browser. They were immediately flooded with an immense amount of information, written material, first and foremost. It seemed humans liked this topic quite a lot. "Alright...where should we begin?"

Bumblebee quirked his head, scratching near the horns on the helm and pointing to a link here or there. He was a bit apprehensive, but with Prime's company, the smaller bot was less inhibited to hold back. "How about we look up about this...?"

Optimus obediently followed the yellow finger's indication. About two cycles later, however, slightly overheated and with a constant buzz in his processors, he called a halt to their activities. "Huh," he declared, rubbing the bridge of his olfactory sensor. "We should stop for a little energon, don't you think? My processors can't deal with any more; this has to be processed first."

Indeed the humans liked sex. And they loved to brag about it. At least now, they were perfectly well-informed about human biology, reproduction and sexual behavior. And even certain deviations. Optimus was fascinated. Condoms. So simple, yet so effective...!

"Aww, but we were on a roll," Bumblebee whined, looking up at Optimus with wide blue optics. He was a bit more wired up than usual, systems whirring every so often, and his frame was a bit warm. "One more thing? Pleeeease?"

"I think we've gone through every bit of written material already..." Optimus mused. "If we want to learn more, we should get audio-visual feedback on this. Watching humans mate is, naturally, out of the question. Sari is too young—and while we're here, I'd like to ask you not to press this issue with her. We know now that human society is very sensitive about their offspring learning about sex before they reach the appropriate age."

Bumblebee quirked his head a bit, then typed a search into "Google." Seconds later, he pointed triumphantly at the screen. "Bingo! Just when I thought they couldn't get weirder...humans apparently record themselves engaging in sexual activities. There are all sorts of movies and stuff."

"This is somewhat...repelling..." Optimus frowned, but leaned closer. "Well, if it's up on a freely accessible domain, then I suppose there's no harm in watching it...here goes nothing." He pushed the 'Play' button.

Approximately ten seconds later, he lowered the volume to a barely audible one and he stared with wide optics, with both awe and horror. "T-they have no plating- I mean, clothes on...this really looks different from those pictures on the education sites..."

Bumblebee's optics were possibly even wider than Prime's. He was fixated on the screen, faceplates shifting from one expression to the next in a plethora of emotions from surprised to mortified. The bodies on screen were moving in awkward unison, but they seemed to be enjoying it. It just looked so...weird. And organic. Bumblebee couldn't get past that whole "flesh" part. It seemed so vulnerable.

And then the man pulled away, and then...

Bee reeled back, hands clapped against his face. "Why? Why in Primus' name is he tasting that?!"

"I have NO idea..." Optimus whimpered. "Maybe it...tastes good? I think...those pheromones have something to do with that. Humans can still sense them." Before he could catch himself, he glanced down at the smooth plating between his own legs. Primus, he was glad there was nothing like those organs...it seemed to be very difficult.

"Oh...wait, wait, I figured it out!" He tapped at Bee's arm excitedly. "I think it's not the taste, it's the tactile stimulation. Human genitals are sensitive, right? So when they touch each other like that, it provides pleasant sensations." There. He was somewhat proud of himself. They got closer to solve another mystery.

But didn't he just say, "You taste good"? Is it both? Bee felt like his processors were going to explode. This was confusing. He peered at the screen, squirming in his seat. "I guess...she seems to be enjoying it, anyway..."

"And how...!" Optimus nodded. "I've never heard anybody providing sounds like that before. There's something...strangely appealing in the vibration." He ran a few tests on the audio input, comparing with others. He couldn't get any solid conclusion out of it, but it was intriguing. With a sigh, he curled an arm around the yellow mech's shoulder, and glanced at him. "Your frame is hot. If you overheat or something and I have to carry you down to Ratchet, I'll personally disable the computer in your room..."

Bumblebee revved and pouted. "I won't overheat!" He insisted with a grumble. "Maybe it's just you you're feeling. Your frame is smoldering."

"I'm bigger and older than you...!" Optimus shot back, his shoulder vents hissing. "We'll watch this, and then it's enough for this orn." He turned back to the screen and almost jumped. "W-when did his organ get that big...?"

The younger mech looked back at the screen, and his optics dimmed a bit as he thought. "Ummm..." once he'd gotten over his initial distaste of how it actually looked, "I think...one of the sites said something about...a rush of blood to the area..."

"Yes, but...it seems so huge...! Does it really fit into the female?" Apparently it did—the guy on the screen leaned above his mate and slowly eased himself into her body. The Autobot leader was steadily steaming. "I don't know whether I should be awed or horrified..."

"No harm in being both," Bee mumbled, excess heat hissing out from every joint in his body while he watched. He winced a little bit when the male started moving. "I...I know they said something about a 'spot', but, wouldn't that hurt?"

Optimus rubbed his temple. "The female's vagina provides a lubrication," he recited what he had read earlier, "so the friction will not cause discomfort. And the inside is sensitive as well. She seems to like it. It's like a bunch of sensors connected directly to our emotion processing center, and set so, that stimulation would register as...nice." Translating it to their own anatomy made it a little more understandable. Suddenly, a curious realization dawned on the young Prime. "It's a bit like my audio sensors. Touch registers on them, and it somehow calms me down when I'm upset."

"Ah." Bee glanced curiously up at Prime—namely, at his audio sensors. After a moment, however, he started to slide down off of the chair. "I, uh...think I've had enough of human mating rituals for one day..."

"Agreed." Optimus switched the whole browser off and offlined the Internet as well, just to be sure. "I think we got a lot wiser. Sex is not something meant for us." He placed a hand lightly on Bumblebee's shoulder. "Are you going to be alright? I say have a cube and get some recharge. In the evening, we'll take a round in the city, and then we'll just store ourselves away until morning."

Bumblebee just nodded in agreement, smiling up at his leader. "Yeah. Thanks for checking it out with me, anyway. It was, uh...interesting."

"I can't deny that. Now, go, youngling." Optimus gave a playful little push to his comrade, then went straight to his cabinet, to retrieve a small cube. He really needed some relaxation now. Humans and their strange ways...he made sure he was alone, and slowly ran his fingers all over his audio module and antenna. He offlined his optics and concentrated on the feeling, tried to analyze it... Then stopped abruptly, placing his hand on the sofa firmly. His processors were reeling, and Optimus, to calm them, took a big swig from his energon. Unfortunately, he managed to swallow some air as well, so he spent the next few minutes doubling over, groaning, and tapping at his chest firmly.


	2. Of Birds And Bots 02

As Bumblebee was nudged out of the room, he shuffled awkwardly down the hall, rubbing self-consciously at his armoring in places where it was a bit heated. The mech peered behind his shoulder at Prime's quarters as they grew more and more distant. He wondered...

Bee's optics swept over the hallway, making sure nobody was in the immediate area. Then, curiously, he lifted a yellow hand and touched against one of the horns on his helmet, rubbing the protruding nub gently. He patted the top of his head the way Prime did, frowning a bit, analyzing the gestures.

Steam hissed from the seams in his helmet and he stormed off. Only one mech in the compound could possibly be old enough to have the kind of knowledge he was looking for.

That one mech, the grumpy medic called Ratchet, was in his comfortable med bay, trying to install the last pieces of equipment. He was completely unaware of the upcoming doom, which took the form of an agitated little yellow mech. He was perfectly calm at the moment, even humming an old song quietly. Ah, sweet old times. Sometimes, he really missed them.

Bumblebee peered into the med bay, finding Ratchet working through some installations. He wasted no time strolling in—better to grab the chance before Ratchet could slide the door shut in his face and refuse him information.

"Ratchet, can I ask you something?" Bee asked, not giving the medic time enough to shut him out, should he discover his boundaries being imposed on.

The elderly mech promptly snapped the cable he was trying to connect. "Damn your afterburners, little one, don't scream at me like that!" he snapped and struggled up, turning toward Bumblebee. "What is it? I'm busy."

Bumblebee could still feel his plating fighting the heat that had accumulated in his systems, but he behaved normally, gazing innocently at the medic as he hopped up on one of the repair berths. "Well, I was doing some research on the humans, you see, about their reproductive habits..."

"Reproductive habits," Ratchet echoed flatly. "You have too much time on your hands again, huh? I should give you some extra work. What about it? I have no time to study that. I hear there's the Internet if you need information about humans." Really, what was up with kids nowadays...?

Bee frowned a bit. Just like Ratchet, to shove him off like this.

"I already looked stuff up on the Internet," he said. "But it said the humans sometimes perform reproductive activities...not to reproduce..."

"Reproductive procedure which has nothing to do with actual reproduction...? Bumblebee, you are not making sense." Ratchet shook his head and went to a side table to organize his tools and datapads. "You'll have to be a little more specific about what you'd like to know. And I already told you, I know barely anything about how these humans work." Of course, he planned to do something about that...he was a medic, after all, and he swore to protect life. His oath did not specify what kind of life, so, humans fell into the same category. He just didn't want to see another life being lost, if he could do anything about it.

"Well, I was just wondering...because Sari asked me about it, and I couldn't really provide an answer..." Bee drew his legs up onto the berth. "Are we able to, as the humans put it, 'have sex'?"

"That depends." The medic turned and frowned. "Legs off the berth. And define that 'sex'."

Bee shifted so that Ratchet wouldn't chide him again. "I mean, even if we can't reproduce the way humans do, would we be able to have 'sex' just because it...feels good?"

Suddenly, Ratchet felt this fuel tank sink. What the _Pit_? The little one was asking about—whoa, it's been hundreds of vorns since somebody last—no, absolutely not. He rubbed his faceplate, and glared at the yellow mech. "This 'sex' we're talking about...is it perchance some groping and fondling and such...? Maybe with some...noises added?"

The little mech quirked his head to one side. "Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"I'm a medic!" Ratchet barked and folded his arms. "Let me tell you something, little one. We're not organics. We're bots, and we don't reproduce. Start thinking about something else, and don't waste your time on such nonsense. Groping, bah! We have armor! It's not meant to really feel, aside excessive things, to avoid damage."

Bumblebee pouted. "That's not an answer!" he moaned. "Just tell me, Ratchet, please? If you do, I promise, I'll never bother you again, for anything."

"If I had a cube every time somebody said that...!" The medic growled. "NO! Satisfied?"

The little bot's optics widened a bit, before he pouted, frame sulking a little. "Oh." he mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers. He didn't quite believe the medic—when he'd messed with his horns earlier...that didn't hurt at all. In fact, going over the analysis...it was kind of...nice.

Ratchet was hiding something, of that Bee was certain. But he was also certain the grumpy old wrench wasn't going to cough up any more information without twisting a few servos. The little bot hopped down off the repair berth, moving for the entrance. "Thanks anyway, Ratchet. I guess..."

"Mmmmh." Ratchet was tapping impatiently on his arm, watching Bee leaving. The little one would be better off not knowing. After all, nobody missed it, ever since... And besides, there was a reason, too, and...

Darn, sometimes, he _so_ missed Ironhide.

"Wait." His shoulders sagged in defeat. "I'm a terrible liar, aren't I? Close the door and get back here. I'm not gonna shout. I don't need Bulkhead catching a stray signal and coming to me inquiring as well..."

Bee blinked his optics, turning around curiously. Ratchet was admitting to something? _This_ was interesting. "Uh...sure." He didn't question the medic's somewhat odd behavior, shutting the door and turning to go back and meet Ratchet, perching himself on the berth again.

Ratchet shuffled closer and settled down next to the youngster. His back was hunched and his optics seemed to stare right into the past as he started talking. "A long time ago, before the Great War, when I was a young mech, our race was a little different. We were more open, more trusting, more...happy. Back then, we knew how to...'have sex'; we just called it bonding. Back then, mechs loved each other truly, and their systems prompted them to come close physically. We craved the surge the bonding brought. That was the sign of the truest affection. It was like I said—caressing the other's frame, the 'hot spots', until the other's system responded, building up energy until you couldn't take it anymore, and it released, frying out everything for a few astro-seconds. It was a wonderful feeling indeed." 

Bee straightened a bit. So _that's_ what bonding was...so he wasn't that far off when he made the comparison, back when Sari had explained. 

"I heard about bonding, somewhere, when I was building space bridges." Bumblebee mentioned. "But no one ever said exactly what it was, not even the older mechs...I guess now I know, though." 

Ratchet nodded. "It all changed when the Great War crashed upon us. We didn't have the time; it cost too much energy. Nowadays models still have a few hot spots, but not so much as the older ones. And, actually...that's not all. Back then, we used to bond our sparks." 

Bumblebee's optics widened. "Your...your sparks? That's..." his optics shuttered on and off. "...Err...w-wow...a-are we able to do that now?" 

The medic shrugged. "You can open your chest plating and uncover your spark—the feature had to be kept for medical purposes. So, technically, yes." He glanced at the youngster, with a slight grin. "Sounds scary, doesn't it?" 

"A little," he admitted, frowning. Bee knew the importance of his spark—it was what made him alive, what made him who he was. There was no separating a bot from its spark. "But...if you did it while bonding, then, it had to feel good, right?" 

Ratchet lowered his head and offlined his optics. "No. It was not good. It was amazing, processor-blowing, world-shaking...your sparks felt like they were merging into one, like once in the Allspark. You felt the other inside you, around you; you were able to look into his very core, share every thought, memory and sensation. It was all the joy of the universe condensed into one single moment. That's why you never did it, unless you really loved your mate." 

Bumblebee shuffled away a bit when he felt the heat building up under his armor again. Primus, his systems were getting hot just hearing about it. The little bot had a silly grin on his face now, engrossed in Ratchet's words. After a moment, he gave the medic's arm a squeeze and jumped down off the berth. "Thanks, Ratchet!" he said, opening the door, and streaking out in car form. He decided he would burn some rubber before meeting Prime for the evening patrol. 

Oh, damn. Ratchet pressed his hand to his faceplates. What the heck was he thinking, rambling like that to such a hot-headed youngster...? Meh…he'd have to catch Bee later, and properly explain everything before he starts to spread the chaos. But before that... 

The medic commanded the security locks shut, all of them up to code orange, and leaned back on the berth. He let his chestplates slide apart, and he carefully ran a finger over the edge of his spark chamber. "Ironhide...I hope I'm still no too old for this." 


	3. Of Birds And Bots 03

After gathering that very interesting (and helpful) information, Bumblebee spent the next few Earth hours cruising about and scouting until Prime called him up for patrol. Eagerly, the smaller bot joined his leader for the rounds on night watch, and afterwards they drove their paths around Detroit. At one point, Prime stopped to perch atop a high skyscraper to scope the city from above. Bumblebee, clever sneak that he was, held his arms out and asked to sit on Prime's shoulders. When Optimus asked why, he responded that he wouldn't be able to see anything from this height because of his small stature.

Prime gave in, and Bumblebee sat happily on his leader's shoulders, peering into the distance with a yellow hand shading his optics, free arm slung lightly around the taller mech's neck.

He was so... What was the human word for it? Cute, yes, that. Optimus, even though Bee could perfectly handle himself, placed a hand on a yellow leg, to keep his companion from falling. He often saw human males carry their offspring like this, while the female walked next to them. They looked so happy. Apparently, they really liked each other's company, but somehow, Optimus felt that it was not like what they had, the bond between the 'bots of a unit. The thought made him ache faintly, he was not sure why. He quickly dismissed it, and concentrated on the city below. Everything seemed to be peaceful.

"I think we could go back. Everything seems to be alright," he said.

"Yeah, nothing out of the ordinary that I can see," agreed Bumblebee, putting his hands on top of Prime's head and craning down to look at him from above with a wide smile. "I kinda like sitting here, though..."

"You do?" Optimus asked back with a slight smile. "I guess so. You're a lazy little bot, and you enjoy that somebody is carrying you, now, don't you?" he teased.

Bee's chestplates puffed out. "I'm not lazy!" he argued. "But even so, it'd make us a perfect match, 'cause I've never seen you turning down the opportunity to make someone happy!"

"Mm." Optimus felt his spark give a throb. "I'm glad you see it so. I indeed like to make others happy." Oh, and it was a wonderful feeling, both to help others, and being recognized for it. He patted Bee's leg lightly. "Well, alright. You can stay up there for a while. Just don't fall and you have four perfect wheels to drive, so I'm not going to carry you all the way home. Lazy bots get malfunctions."

"My gyro-processors are perfectly fine," Bee snickered, "I won't fall." However, despite saying this aloud, the yellow bot clung a little tighter to his leader's head and shoulders, as if securing that this would be so.

For a time, as Prime eased them down and they made their way along the practically empty streets, Bumblebee laid his head atop Prime's happily, arms wrapped around the leader's neck. He watched ahead with bright blue optics, content for the time being until he chanced a peek down at Optimus. Bumblebee shifted his gaze towards one of the out-thrust crops on Prime's helm indicating his audio receptors, and tweaked his head to the side curiously. _Whenever I touch my audio receptors, it calms me down..._

Bumblebee swiped his glossa over his lips and propped his head lazily on Optimus', reaching out with two careful yellow digits and brushing them over the top of a single audio receptor. When he didn't get a reaction out of the other, he took it between his fingers and rubbed it a little.

Optimus stumbled a little bit, and slowed his pace, trying to glance up at him companion without moving his head. "Bumblebee...? What are you doing?" The light vibrations caused by the careful touch traveled through his neuro-grid and eventually registered in his processors as 'nice.' It indeed made him calm, relaxed—something was buzzing inside him lightly, like very quiet, soothing music—but, it also made him uneasy. The simple fact that somebody else was touching his sensitive spot was somewhat scary. It made him feel a bit cold, but also hot, and his body couldn't handle all this. He was crawling on the inside.

"Huh? Nothing..." Bee stopped and glanced down at his friend with a little concern. Was that too much? "I was just...messing around...I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, no," Optimus assured him immediately. "But it felt a little... weird." Hmm, probably, Bee remembered that remark, and wanted to reward his leader's kindness... "Just warn me next time before you do something like that, okay? It was too sudden." _All_ of his comrades had problems with his warnings.

"But that takes the fun out of it!" Bee complained, laughing a little. "It wouldn't be the same if I went, 'Hey Optimus, I'm gonna start petting your audios now,' and then did it."

"Bumblebee, please. It didn't feel entirely good, you know." Optimus stared at the ground, trying to find the right words to explain it.

Bee's frown deepened a little, and he sat up, giving his leader (or his head, at least) a bit more space. "You said it felt weird...weird like how?"

"It's difficult..." Optimus sighed. "It was good, but it was also a little bit bad. I'm not used to being touched by somebody else, especially not my audio sensors. It made me feel uneasy. I think it's similar to the feeling when you filch energon candy from the storage. It's good, but you know you're not supposed to do it and it just makes your fuel tank churn lightly."

"Oh..." Bee blinked a few times, laying his chin atop Prime's head again. "Well, it's not like I'm a Decepticon, right? I'm not gonna hurt 'em or anything." He tilted his head, servo hovering over one receptor. "...Could I try again?"

The young Prime suddenly got the feeling that he should say no. He should put Bee down, drive home and disable all the access to 'adult material' on the computers. But before he could catch himself, he nodded. "Alright…I know you don't want to hurt me."

Bumblebee smiled a bit, but didn't immediately leap at the chance. He gently ran a finger over the top of Prime's audio receptor, moving the digit down to circle around the large silver screw keeping it in place. He took the flat piece between his fingers again, rubbing and stroking it, optics fixed on the intricate piece of machinery as he played with it.

Now, it felt a lot better. Optimus let out a small sigh, and continued his walk, suddenly not minding that he was very likely carrying the yellow mech straight home. The night was silent; he picked a route which didn't have much traffic. And those careful little fingers worked so expertly. Optimus leaned his head into the caressing hand, his optics flickering. Oooh, it was nice, alright... His engine soon started to rumble lowly, and he sensed that his core temperature was rising, but, since the night air was cool, he even welcomed the feeling.

Bumblebee's frame shuddered slightly when he heard Optimus' engine starting up. When the other's armor began to grow warm under his feet, the yellow mech tugged very lightly on the tip of the receptor and pressed his palm against the silvery part, fingers sweeping over every curve and edge. He had a proud little smile on his face and he felt rather accomplished. Bee could guess at what this was doing to Optimus, and he felt his spark fluttering in its chamber at the thought of being able to do this to his leader. It was a nice feeling, but a little scary, too. He'd never done anything like this before.

"Maybe it's a hot spot," he murmured to himself, forgetting that his vocals were positioned closer to Prime's audio receptors than when he was normally standing beside him.

"A w-what...?" Optimus stopped, and tilted his head to the side lightly, optics clouded by that pleasant daze the touches made him sink into. His shoulder vents huffed, expelling hot air. He felt so relaxed and happy but perfectly calm like never before. The little one sure had talented hands...

Bumblebee jerked slightly when the other stopped, looking down. "What?" he asked, apparently unaware that he'd let something slip.

"You said something...about a hot spot. It certainly makes me feel hot, you know..." He lifted a hand and placed it on Bee's, rubbing his audios into the smaller palm. "Mmm...this is nice."

Bumblebee's engine revved nervously and his vocals stuttered. "E-Err..." his glossa swept over his lips again. Ah, slag. He hadn't meant to say that aloud.

The younger mech wasn't quite as eager to stimulate the leader's audios now as he tried to explain. "W-Well, I...uh...I sort of...asked Ratchet a few questions about...y'know, about our kind and...sex..."

The code word snapped Optimus back into reality immediately. His engine revved up, his core temperature jumped and his faceplates grew hot. Wait-a-sec, they were... Uhh, well not exactly, but... They were in the middle of a populated area, on the open street, and they were engaging into something... intimate...?? He resumed walking, his hands now curled into fists, and stubbornly kept down. "And...? What did Ratchet say?"

Bumblebee felt his tank sinking lower and lower as Prime's engine rumbled and he saw the leader's hands balling up. He didn't need to think twice to know that he'd done something wrong. Why, oh why, couldn't he ever keep his big mouth shut?

"H—H—He said it's—it's possible, but that, uh, newer models, like us, wouldn't be able to do it as easily. I-I think because, he says, we have less 'hot spots', because of the war and everything, to gear us more towards combat and less towards intimacy..." Bumblebee was rambling and a single nervous click slipped out.

"Please don't be mad at me?" he tried, hoping he hadn't upset his friend too much.

What-? "No, no, I'm not upset." Optimus shook his head. "It's just... If Ratchet said we're not geared toward this, we should probably leave it alone." He reached up, picked Bee off from his shoulders to pull the smaller yellow frame into his arms. "I know that you're curious, and you like the humans much, but we're different from them, and we can't become exactly like them."

"But—!" Bumblebee began to object, though he cut himself off. It didn't stop him from looking up with desperate, wide optics. "If it's possible, though, don't you think it'd be worth trying? Especially since we were able to do it before...!"

"That something was possible in the past; doesn't mean it is still possible." Optimus looked away. "Before the Great War, Autobots and Decepticons lived in peace. Imagine that! All this is just very distracting, and we have a lot to do. We can't allow out attention to falter. Who know what will happen. We have to stay alert and all this...issue would do is steal our attention."

Bumblebee's frame turned cold and he narrowed his optics. "So we were just supposed to wait until the war was over? Optimus, have we not already reached that goal? _Hundreds_ of vorns have passed, and still, we—! Can you imagine what we're missing out on?!"

Bee's arms lifted in protest. "It's not really that distracting, is it?" Though even as he said it, Bumblebee knew it was a stupid question—of course it was distracting, otherwise they wouldn't begin building new units to the specifications they now met. But still...what Ratchet had said...it sounded so good; wonderful, even! It just wasn't fair. Why did they have to sacrifice something so fantastic to such a grim war?

Optimus' shoulders sagged in defeat. He looked around, and he noticed a large patch of grass, some park where humans went on sunny days to refuel together in the open. Still cradling Bee in his arms, he walked over there then gently put his companion down. The young Prime kneeled in front of the yellow mech, and took his small hand into his larger ones. "Probably, I shouldn't admit this," He began, optics wavering just a little bit, "but I'm scared. It's just so new to me and so strange. We already learned that... intimacy is for those who stand very close, and it's about equality—getting something, and giving back just as much. I'm afraid that I couldn't fulfill my part of the deal, or worse, I'd hurt my partner. And what if it has some serious effects on us, now that we were changed to...be less able, less geared on it? I can't allow neither myself nor my soldiers to function less effectively."

"I'm scared too, Prime, but...!" Bumblebee looked up at his friend, and then down at the large blue hands closed around his own. His circuits twitched and, after a few more moments of silence, he writhed out of Prime's grip. Why was he trying so hard, anyway? Was it just because he was curious? It couldn't be—something, though Bee wasn't sure what, told him it was a little more than that. A twinge jerked on the edges of his spark as he sulked away.

"I guess you're right." He conceded, walking up the grassy hill, making it to the road. Turning, the smaller mech tried to offer a smile. "I'm sorry if I scared you, Optimus. You know how I am; curiosity killed the petro-rabbit, right?"

"Bee...little Bee, I'm sorry, too." The young leader's spark was twisting painfully inside his chest. "I'm just...it's so confusing. I have no idea what to think, or...how to feel. I don't even understand my own reactions." He stepped closer to the yellow mech and gently rubbed his shoulder. "Look, if you're really so dead set on finding out...let's ask Ratchet about it. I need more data, and some time to sort out my thoughts. Maybe, after some time, we could try something. How about that?"

Prime’s words made him feel a little better...just a little. Bumblebee only nodded his head, feeling smaller than normal. "If you want to."

Optimus wasn't sure about the answer, and neither about the appropriateness of his next action, but...this was something he had seen while walking with Sari on warm days, watching humans. It seemed like a tender gesture, something to convey affection. The young Prime leaned down, and pressed his lips against Bumblebee's forehead. "I care for you," he said quietly. "And I want to see you happy."

Bumblebee felt his temperature spiking a bit. That...was what the humans called a "kiss", wasn't it?

Now he had to try and not smile like an idiot. Bumblebee's lips quivered as he forced the corners down, trying to look as pouty as possible. "Okay," he said. The smile broke through, a little. "I...care for you, too." At least, he thought he did, if Bee understood anything about emotions.

Prime's smile was hopeful. "I'll be there for you, I promise. And now, let's go home. It was a long day; we deserve some rest."

"Right..." Bumblebee transformed into his car form, revving his engine rather excitedly, and sped off the moment his companion had followed suit. Privately, when he was sure Prime wasn't paying attention, Bee allowed his spark to swell in its chamber. Kisses were a human sign of affection, and depending on who was giving it to whom, it meant different kinds of affection...perhaps Optimus meant it more as a companionable thing, more sibling or parent-like, but it didn't stop the little yellow bot from hoping. And he was allowed to be happy about it, he declared to himself; why shouldn't he be?

Maybe he really did like Optimus...


	4. Of Birds And Bots 04

The upcoming few days were relatively silent. Bee seemed to calm down, and Optimus was tempted to just forget about the whole issue...except not. He snuck down to the med bay, to ask Ratchet about the topic. Despite that the medic grumbled, glitched and outright refused to say anything first, eventually, the young Prime was supplied with the necessary information. Ratchet told him what bonding was and what it meant, how they used to connect their sparks, what hot spots were and how they worked. Optimus slowly developed a guess that the transformer race made a mistake when they exiled intimacy from their society.

And, they were not on Cybertron. They all needed to feel that things were all right and under control. Most of them could get over with it—but the young Bee probably needed some added comfort. With the knowledge stored away in his memory banks, Optimus was almost willing to submit the yellow mech's plea—but just almost. While he had the theory in his grasp, Prime clearly lacked practice.

And that was when he came across that certain video. He couldn't understand it first, but then he realized that it was some pretending, which didn't focus on the organs or the coupling, but rather the aesthetics. Back on Cybertron, shining armor and powerful frames got you compliments, and it was the same with the humans. Prime watched the human male caress the female, as carefully as if she had been made of glass, and he felt a little more sure about how he should handle this matter.

During the time since their patrol together, although Bumblebee appeared to be quelled for the time being, he was a bit distant for a couple of days. He quickly got over his "shy spell", however, and was soon back to his normal self, eager to assist in any and all ways possible.

The little mech spent a lot of time thinking about Optimus and what they had researched, what he had discovered. But especially, he thought about Optimus. There was no denying that Bumblebee was quite curious and wanted to find out more about this "bonding" and about the intimacy that had once been so common among their kind. But, for reasons he already suspected, he most wanted to find out about it with Optimus. And, why not? Of all his teammates, Optimus Prime was one of the few Bumblebee considered an actual friend rather than just a comrade—the other being Bulkhead. Prime was kind and very likable, barely much older than Bee; but he had yet to shake anyone's faith in his born leadership.

For the most part, nothing was different...except that, after perhaps four or five days, Bumblebee began to give off strange energy readings. He didn't seem all too aware of the readings themselves, although whenever they were detectable it was usually strongest in the presence of his teammates.

At one point—when Prime and Prowl were present, even—Ratchet must have picked up on those readings, because he shot a glare at the little yellow mech that could melt titanium. Bumblebee just smiled innocently back. "What?"

The medic grumbled something, glaring at the others. Prowl just stared back, rather coldly, while Optimus apparently sensed something, because he eventually turned the conversation on the latest rescue mission, and eventually dragged the black and gold ninja off. Ratchet immediately turned to Bumblebee. "Look, kid. If you don't want a wrench lodged up at someplace painful, stop the broadcasting. You're practically oozing spark energy all over the place; it even makes my head spin! You have to get rid of that charge. Primus, I should have caught you sooner...! At least Prime came to me and sat patiently while I explained him everything..."

"Broadcasting?" Bee asked, frowning. He paused, head turned up as he did a self-scan on his systems. His optics lit up with the realization. "Ohh, so that's what those weird readings are. Huh. They weren't hurting me, so I kind of just ignored them."

"Mmm-yeah; now listen up and listen well. Our sparks had all been a part of the Allspark, right? That's where they return when we get terminated. Each spark was part of a whole. And they don't protest against being part of the whole again. Your spark currently calls out to its companions, trying to lure them close. Basically, it's like standing out on top of a building and shouting out that you'd like to sparkbond with the first stray bot. It's not done. First, because it's rather bad taste, and second, because, believe me, you don't want to sparkbond with the first stray bot."

Bumblebee frowned a bit, flinching. Yeah, that didn't sound good at all...

"Okay, so, how am I supposed to turn it off? Or at least control where I broadcast it?"

Ratchet let out a huge, world-weary sigh and leaned closer. "Back then, it was not unheard of to indulge into some...fun alone. We could stimulate our hot spots, until our inner charge reached the critical level and we achieved the surge. I suppose, you younglings can do that, too... An overload would calm your restless spark."

"Oh, okay." Bee grinned, brightening up a bit. If that was all it took, he wasn't too unfamiliar with it...he wouldn't tell that to Ratchet, though.

The medic lightly whacked Bee on the back of his head. "Younglings...can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Lock your room tight, and remember, if it doesn't hurt, it's alright. Your body will give you warnings about overheating, and processors shutting down, but don't pay them heed. It's normal. Take your time with your body. I guess, those little horns of yours are a good place to start with."

"Ow!" Bumblebee rubbed his head with a pout when Ratchet smacked it, and began to walk away. "Man, you could try to find nicer ways to grumble about things," he said. "That hurt."

"Or you're just a weakling!" Ratchet claimed and targeted his beloved med bay. Young mechs these days...

"Not a weakling," Bumblebee muttered to himself as he walked off. So he would have to get rid of the charge soon...well, Optimus and Prowl said something about checking out the far end of town, but Bee didn't exactly trust himself to do such a thing on the base...or at least not on the same level as Ratchet.

Bumblebee got his solution when he remembered there was a small outcrop a few levels up that was thrust out over the ground. It was at the back of the complex, and rather out of sight even for the Autobots; it would do nicely.

Once he'd made it onto the balcony, Bumblebee did one last sweep to make sure nobody was around, and sunk down against the wall, curling himself up in a corner neatly. The doors didn't really have a lock on them yet—they didn't use this balcony and nobody felt like taking it down—but that shouldn't be a worry, because Ratchet never went outside of the med bay, hermit that he was, and Prime and Prowl were sure not to be back until much later.

Yet, Bumblebee didn't exactly begin right away. He spent a few moments just analyzing the signals his body was giving off, thinking about what Ratchet had told him and processing the information. Eventually, though, he pushed it aside—Bee shut off his optics and leaned back, systems letting out a cool whir as he worked to clear his head.

He lifted a single yellow hand, optics flickering online very dimly, and squeezed his fingers around one of the small horns on his helm. Bee's optics turned off again and he relaxed into the touch, frame thrumming lightly. It was easier when he imagined it wasn't his hand; when he pretended it was someone else.

Neuro-processors picked up on the strokes and caresses to his helm, and led him to the conclusion that it usually did: this felt very nice. Bee was gentle and careful—even though he'd been getting to know his body a little better over the days, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with it. He was already heating up just trying to rid the excess energy Ratchet told him about. The hand he held idle in his lap lifted up and, as Bumblebee rubbed his head and trailed down over a slender black neck, it joined its partner in the exploration. Young, naive fingers pressed boldly at the seams of his armor, targeting joints and pockets beneath his armor along his sides and at his shoulders, digging slightly underneath the sheen of yellow metal to brush against small bundles of wire underneath.

Bumblebee's intakes hitched on the next cycle; he moaned softly to himself, easing into the moment, letting his mind wander. He started to imagine someone different—larger, stronger blue hands in place of his own, sliding over his armor, questing for the same hot spots he'd discovered on himself since he'd begun to experiment like this. He could almost, almost, hear the other mech's voice rumbling low against his audios, inquiring about what actions to take and boldly taking the guidance.

The little mech nervously lowered his vocals, even though no one was around, merely out of a habit and not wanting to be discovered. Quiet moans and sighs began to spill from his processors with each touch and stroke; he pressed three fingers against an odd hot spot on the back joint of his knee, and his engine revved as a result, causing Bumblebee to press further against the wall. He whimpered pleasantly and nudged the digits against the sensitive crease as he drew his leg up, then stretched it out again, to see if it made any difference. He found it was best bent at a slight angle—about forty-five degrees—he hard-wired that into his memory banks for later, and continued.

However, the equation had a slight mistake—Prime and Prowl indeed mentioned going out, but not right away. While the silent ninja indeed headed out to pay a visit to his human colleagues, Optimus walked back inside.

The headquarters were quiet, and he just idly wandered around, on corridors he rarely used, lost in thought. When he had nothing to do, his mind always returned to the same topic: to Bee and his fascination with intimacy. Optimus was already sort of convinced he could do things right, but one thing kept him back. Bee was so young; his emotions changed so fast...what if he regrets indulging with his leader...? The young Prime didn't want to cause pain to any of his Bots.

He was snapped out of his reverie though, as passing a door, his audio sensors registered a sound: a strange, quiet little moan. Optimus blinked and stepped to the door; it had small windows on it, so he could see some of the balcony beneath it. He couldn't see much...but on the side, the light flashed on something...on a piece of yellow armor. Optimus slowly, carefully pushed the door open and slipped out into the open air, his spark throbbing excitedly. Something was pulling him, a strange energy, it sang to him, and the voiceless song was quite tempting.

Bumblebee moaned again as his fingers continued to explore over his body, stroking invisible seams in the thinner black sections of armor and searching for more hot spots, seeing if he may have missed any. One hand would often wander back up to the horns he possessed, petting the top of his head much like Prime tended to do.

His core temperature was spiking hot now, entire frame warming up, engine rumbling as everything began to get especially sensitive. Bee moaned again, arching forward when he felt something pulling, tugging lightly on his spark. It throbbed rhythmically in his chest, calling out desperately for something or someone; and Bee, still lost in his fantasies, didn't take into account the approaching figure from the doorway as he moaned again. "Optimus..."

The young leader couldn't hold back a gasp and he heard a name— _his own name_ —drift from the little mech's vocalizer. His optics burned bright, and his spark was twisting, begging, practically clawing at the layers of armor protecting it. It wanted to be set free, to meet the other spark nearby, to merge into one...just like in Ratchet's tales. As if mesmerized, Optimus drew closer, his own core temperature rising as well. Some of his servos were apparently glitching, because his hands shook. He could barely keep them down; they wanted to rise, grab the slender yellow frame and pull it close. Where did those thoughts come from...?

That small gasp couldn't have possibly been much louder than the dimmed sounds Bumblebee was making, but one outside sound was all it took. The little mech's head snapped up from where it had been resting against his chest, optics surging online in a panic. His hands froze, trembling where they were, one against the hotspot on his back leg joint while the other was positioned over a sensitive open spot on his shoulder.

The moment he saw just who was standing there, Bumblebee went rigid and steam hissed out of every open port. His engine sputtered in shock. Embarrassment crashed into his systems like an anvil and he thought he might die right there. "Op—Opt—Optim—!!"

"Hush." The young leader's voice was quiet and gentle, surprisingly so from a huge metal creature. He walked closer and eventually crouched down next to the little mech, never taking his optics off the heated yellow frame. He reached out, and slowly brushed his fingers against the other's cheekplates. "You're overheating..." Prime remarked. Inwardly, he was fighting with himself fiercely—he needed all his willpower not to push Bumblebee against the wall and rip his casing open to bond their sparks right then and there. Primus, whatever it was, it had a terrible power, raw and wild, like a raging cosmic storm.

Optimus gently picked Bee up, cradling him close to his mighty chest. For a moment, he had to stop; his spark screamed with joy inside, and only the promise was able to calm it down, that soon, soon enough, he'll be able to get what he wants. Optimus straightened, and with slow, graceful steps, he walked inside, engine rumbling steadily.

He was a little calmer when Optimus picked him up and held him like that—but still, it didn't completely rid Bumblebee of his fear. He hadn't at all expected the other to find him like that.  
"Wh-Where are we going?" he asked, clinging to Prime's frame, feeling his spark throbbing and pushing as far as it could go against its casing. The closeness did nothing to ease the building heat and how he suddenly wanted to fulfill the fantasies he'd been merely dreaming about only seconds before; Bumblebee squirmed nervously in Prime's arms as a result.

"To my quarters," Optimus replied gently. "You were calling out to me, and I promised you that I'd be there. I don't think we can fight this, anyway...I just don't want you to regret this. I don't want to hurt you." His voice was a mere whisper, by the end of the sentence.

Bumblebee peered over his shoulder as they neared Prime's quarters, nuzzling the other's chest. "I...I don't think you'll hurt me," he replied quietly. "I trust you, Optimus." He grinned sheepishly, "And I really don't think I'd regret doing this with you..."

"I hope Primus is watching over us," Optimus smiled back, and slipped into his room. He commanded the tightest security locks on the door, then settled down on his recharge berth, still holding Bee close. "You're so...small," he whispered, with slight awe. "One would hardly think how much strength there is inside your frame." He gently caressed the smaller mech's face, brushed a single finger to his mouth...then, Prime leaned closer. He wasn't sure this would work, but he just wanted to try. He had to try.

He offlined his optics, and lightly, very carefully touched his slightly parted lips to Bumblebee's.

Bumblebee didn't hesitate to press his lips a little more firmly against Prime's, when he felt the pressure of contact. His optics offlined as well, and he eased into the kiss, a little familiar with how it worked by observing a number of human couples on the street. The little mech shifted until he was comfortable in Prime's lap, legs swung to one side while he stretched his frame up as far as it would go to meet with Prime's taller height. Bumblebee lifted a hand and ran two yellow fingers over one of Optimus' audios; somewhat for the pleasant feeling he knew it gave, but mostly to let the leader know that it would be alright.

Optimus had absolutely no idea how it would feel—Ratchet didn't dwell that deep into the details—but it turned out to be more pleasant than he expected. It seemed the layer of faint electric charge coating their armors, and buzzing in their insides somehow gathered in hidden places—like the inside of their mouth—and as the two fields clashed, the reaction stimulated never-before used sensors. That, accompanied by Bee's touch, had a wonderful effect on the young Prime's system. He moaned into the kiss, pulling Bee closer. His spark throbbed, emitting waves of energy, and his hand moved by itself, running along the slender little frame.

Bumblebee literally shivered, engine rumbling softly as Optimus' hand caressed his heated frame. He had certainly _imagined_ what it would be like to be with Prime like this; but he'd never truly experienced it. His sensors were buzzing, tingling almost, especially where he was touched and kissed. His spark was already aching in his chest because of his prior self-service, so it was a chore just for Bee to sit still and not beg for Prime to take him right there. But he wanted to—oh, how he wanted to. The yellow mech elicited a rather cat-like sound as his glossa streaked over Prime's lips. It was something he'd seen the humans do, and he wondered if it might be pleasant for them as well.

It certainly wrung a whimper from Optimus, and he pulled his head back to clear it. All of his vents were practically howling, his cooling fans working overtime in a desperate attempt to keep his core temperature low. They were failing spectacularly, but Prime didn't give a damn. He knew his body would protest, but he didn't need to pay attention.

Just the thought that he held so much power, to give or deny the surge from another—especially somebody as small and weak, compared to him, as Bumblebee—made his processors swim in a strange, but pleasant daze. Of course, it never occurred to him to play with the little one, or be cruel to him. Optimus placed a finger on the yellow mech's lips to keep him away a little while. "We don't have to bond our sparks. I will not force you into anything you're not entirely comfortable with."

Bumblebee's optics flickered online again. He pouted at the loss of contact, and was about to reach up and try again, when a finger on his lips stopped him. He blinked a few times, lips puckered slightly as if to kiss the digit itself. "I'm not uncomfortable with it, Prime. You heard me, didn't you? I want to...but..." he tilted his head thoughtfully, glossa briefly swiping over Prime's finger as he smiled his cutest possible smile. "Maybe we could, you know...get used to each other a little more first."

"A wise decision, I'd say," Optimus nodded with a relieved smile. His past...was not exactly something to be proud of, and he was not sure he wanted any of his comrades to know. Perhaps, there was a way to control the contact and information channeling during sparkbonding...but he had to master his own body first.

He sat properly on his berth and pulled Bee into his lap, so the little mech was straddling him. "Now, tell me where your hot spots are."

Bee smiled back, if a bit shyly, as Optimus positioned him to straddle the other's lap. His cooling fans hissed slightly as he took in a bit of air, just to clear his systems and collect himself. He nodded, and began to point or press his hands against the various spots as he pointed them out carefully.  
"Um...my horns are pretty sensitive...there's a small pocket of wires under my shoulder armor on both sides that are good hot spots, too...and..." Bumblebee paused, glancing down behind him. He didn't touch this spot; he merely pointed to it. "I, uh, found out that...the backs of my knees are really good."

Optimus quirked an optic ridge. "And Ratchet said new models are less sensitive. I'm...not sure I want to know how many hot spots older models had." He reached up nonetheless, and began to gently rub both horns. "Lean your head on my chest and relax. You know...I think your horns are cute."

Bumblebee giggled a bit, the sound melting into a moan as he obeyed and rested his head against Prime's chest. "Mmm...maybe it was all the same...but with more sensitivity...?"

"Hmm, it could be..." Optimus mused, and leaned closer to whisper into Bee's audio receptors. "While you're enjoying my attention...could you touch my front grill? I think that's one of my hot spots."

The little mech hummed pleasantly, tilting his head into the leader's touches and tuning his audios when Prime whispered to him. He shuddered again—yes, this was exactly as he'd imagined. The two of them like this, just being close and exploring—experimenting, breaking new ground, neither of them alone. Bumblebee didn't hesitate to put his hands to work, pressing them lightly against the grill on Prime's stomach, stroking each metallic blind with careful precision. "Like that?"

The young Prime couldn't keep his optics online. "Oooh...yes, right there...it feels wonderful." He pulled Bee closer with one hand, while the other continued rubbing a small horn. Optimus could feel their energy fields clash and he wondered—why did he never feel like this before? Maybe it wasn't just the physical touch alone...but something else, too. His spark was oddly content now, merely humming in its casing, pulsing with a steady rhythm.

Bumblebee moaned softly again, arching towards Prime's frame, gravitated there by the thrumming pulses of energy given off by his spark. The pull was less strong than before, sated somewhat, though not completely quenched. It was altogether pleasant, however, and so Bumblebee nuzzled his leader's chest and continued to rub and stroke Prime's front grill when he received such a positive response.

The minutes ticked by, and the young leader didn't hold his voice back—he was moaning, gasping and even whimpering, when his little mate's small fingers slipped through between two slats, and brushed against the sensitive circuitry there. The air around his frame was trembling and beads of coolant formed on his armor; the energy inside was brimming; his mind was a mess. He never felt the surge before, but he knew it was close now, so close...his spark whined and twisted, it was hard to concentrate on his partner...but somehow, he managed. "I'm close..." he whispered, voice cracking with static, "I d-don't know what will happen... But it feels so nice, little Bee...dear little Bee..." One hand was rubbing the yellow shoulder now, while the other latched around the slender waist.

By the time Optimus' crackling voice was whispering in his audios, Bumblebee was shaking like a leaf, servos glitching, body jerking with small twitches whenever it was stimulated in a sensitive area. He'd matched Prime moan for sigh thus far, heat steaming his insides as the energy built stronger and stronger, pooling in a single place and spreading out in tiny crawling leaks that he could feel threatening to overtake his systems. The little yellow mech mewled and pressed a kiss to Prime's chest, arching forward, fingers rubbing against the wirings behind the leader's grill and dancing over the strong red frame, pulling him closer as he felt himself teetering on edge.

And then, suddenly, it happened; Bumblebee cried out Optimus' name, not unlike when the bot had discovered him, full of need and pure affection. His optics shut off and the surge rushed through him like the spread of a spider-virus, shorting out his systems almost systematically. It must have happened in the span of only a few seconds, but it was bliss. Everything was fried out to nothing, and Bumblebee fell still against Prime's frame for a moment as he automatically tried to recover, briefly losing his touch with reality.

Hearing his name and feeling the sparks form the other's frame jumping at his were all what was needed to push Optimus over the edge. His powerful frame tensed up as he yelled from pleasure, his hands trembling violently as with the last bit of consciousness, he tried not to tighten them and crush Bumblebee against him in a tight embrace. His processors shrieked from the shock and his spark emitted a strong energy-wave as the excess charge ran over him from top to toe, along every single wire in his body. His neuro-grid felt like it was melting. His optics went blind with bright static and he thought he'd be terminated again—such an unhealthy habit.

But it didn't happen. The white-hot pleasure and amazing agony ebbed away, and the young Prime hunched forward, curling around the smaller mech in his lap. His arms were still shaking, and a stray lightning still sizzled here and there, but he felt perfectly sated, calm and just happy; so happy.

After a few minutes, when his vents stopped roaring, he straightened a bit and gently nudged his mate. "Bumblebee…are you alright?"

Blue optics blinked slowly at Prime after a moment, and Bumblebee shifted a bit in his leader's lap. "Mmnn...?" he gasped when he realized the question. "Oh! Y-Yeah, I'm fine...great, actually..." Bee smiled nervously. "That happens, with me. I go out sometimes when the surge is really big...I'm sure there must be a way to keep that from happening so often, but I'm not sure how."

The young leader's optics widened. "You mean...this was not your first...?"

"Well..." Bee faltered in his speech, laughing nervously. "Y—You saw me, when you came out to the balcony, didn't you?"

Optimus nodded—there was no point denying that. His insides twisted delightedly as he thought back, how...lovely Bee looked, all heated and so open in his experimenting.

Bee kept himself close to Prime's frame, wiggling his aft a bit as he shifted to get comfortable again. "I'll just put it this way...that wasn't the first time I've done that." His smile turned sheepish. "It's just the first time I've been caught."

"Somehow..." Optimus drawled, as he tightened his hold slightly around his smaller mate, "I suspect this wasn't the first time you called my name doing it, either." Not that he minded, but he wanted to find out what was behind it.

"Eh-heh...you suspect correctly." Bumblebee wound his arms around Prime's middle, returning the comforting embrace that he found himself in. "But I really do like you, Prime. I could go into details, but...well, there's not much left to you that's not to like." Bee nuzzled the other's frame. "And you were one of my first friends, too, when we were building space bridges. Bulkhead was the other..." his smile faded a bit, "Prowl never talked, and Ratchet just yelled a lot."

"I'm glad you consider me a friend," Optimus smiled, and gently rubbed Bee's shoulder. "I'm glad you're in my unit, little one. You remind me that there's more to this world than the past. We also have a future, and it's going to be as bright as we make it." He sighed lightly. "So...what now?"

"...Well..." Bee looked up with a wicked sort of glint in his optics. "Can we do that again?"


	5. Prowl and Prejudice 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: since Prowl's background only came around in season 3, we naturally took our own take on it.

Prowl couldn't speak for the others in the group, but he rather took to the sparring matches now. Sadly for him, Optimus was the only other bot on the team that had any formal training in combat; he was beginning to consider convincing their such-appointed leader that a little schooling in combat would do the younger bots some good. Not to say they were terrible fighters, but, it was better to be safe than sorry.

And at any rate, Optimus was the only one on base that provided Prowl with the exercise he needed (ergo, the only other bot that gave him a challenge). If Prowl was going to fight someone in a spar, he at least wanted to spent a legitimate amount of time locked in combat. For the match to be over in a few simple cycles would feel like a trivial waste of his efforts. So, here he was...and here they were.

The stealthy practicing fighter easily dodged another swing of his opponent's fist, systems cooling off with a sharp intake of air as he countered with a leaping kick. The match had been going strong for at least thirty of Earth's minutes, although it was plenty possible that, going back and forth as they were, it could last longer. Prowl's only rule was that a match wasn't over until a solid checkmate.

Optimus Prime, the young leader already felt it was too much. He might have been bigger and stronger than the ninjabot, but Prowl was a master in his chosen combat style, and he moved around fast and cleverly, pinpointing every little slip and using them mercilessly. Prime's vents were humming steadily now, and he ached here and there but he was not about to give up just yet. He was wise enough to know when to give up—or so he thought—but he also had his pride; and he suspected that Prowl would not take him or his orders seriously until he proved himself at least just as tough as Prowl himself.

He dodged the kick, mostly...the ninja's heel scratched his armor lightly. Optimus tried to turn as fast as he could, and he extended his axe's handle to get them between the other's slender legs, hopefully getting him out of balance a bit.

Prowl narrowly missed getting slammed by the handle of Prime's battle axe, and took the opportunity to grab the extended pole and jerk hard, the intent being to twist Prime's weapon out of his hands and perhaps even use it against him. Getting him off balance wasn't a bad idea, but—Prowl noted with a smirk—not very easy to do. He wondered if Optimus would be able to think fast enough and avoid succumbing to the same problem as he held the younger mech's axe handle fast in his hands and pulled.

The attack might have worked, but Optimus' attention didn't waver. He had a steady grasp on his weapon, and he didn't hesitate to counter the attack, using his superior strength to wrench the axe back forcefully, hoping that Prowl didn't plan to give up on it, either. If he could pull the ninja close enough, a well-delivered kick might get his insides scrambled enough to stay put for a few seconds...and then, all the kicking and leaping and twirling would be replaced by good, old-fashioned wrestling, and the young leader felt a lot more comfortable with that.

Prowl couldn't help the small grunt of surprise that escaped when he was all but jerked off his feet, but he wouldn't let Prime get the upper hand so easily. His feet scraped in protest against the floor as he fought the pull, systems revving into high gear. It took every piece of strength Prowl had not to be pulled into close contact; he'd nearly forgotten how physically strong Optimus was up until now. The mech had a habit of hiding the true bounds of his strength until a time when he could use it to his great advantage. Prowl gave the younger mech some credit for it, but it didn't stop him from being a bit frustrated. Prowl hated surprises.

 _Alright_ , if that didn't work... Optimus, on a sudden impulse, changed tactics: Prowl seemed to be determined not to let loose of the axe's handle, so the young leader suddenly steadied his stance, and risking light damage on his shoulder gears and cables, he suddenly swung the handle upwards. He hoped Prowl would stay attached to the end of it, but if not, well...hopefully he could pull off another move...

The pull upwards wasn't something Prowl was prepared to fight—or something he really could, given the output of strength Prime was demonstrating. He tried to hold on when he was yanked off the ground; but it didn't work for very long. The mech was sent flying, crashing into the wall nearby and toppling in a mess to the ground. Prowl rolled over and tried to push himself up to his feet, grumbling something under his breath—this would be so much easier once he had his internal processors straight again.

Prime, however, didn't let him recover; in an astro-second, he was on top of Prowl with a triumphant glint in his optics, tackling him back on the ground. "Gotcha!" the strong blue hands grabbed the dark arms, trying to hold them down, and Optimus shifted his weight to hopefully avoid being kicked. "Give up, Prowl!"

Prowl didn't flinch when he was pinned down, although his systems hissed with the intake of air. Think, think, think; couldn't there be some way to get out of this situation?

"That's like asking Ratchet to stop working," he pointed out.

"Sometimes I can call him out to fight..." Prime replied with amusement lacing his voice. "Look, I have you on the ground—isn't that enough?" He squirmed a little, trying not to pin the ninja down too forcefully—after all, this was a spar, not a life-and-death match.

The ninja leered up at Prime for a moment, shifting under the other's weight. "...I suppose," he conceded, though not very happily. Then again, there was little Prowl ever said that came out cheerfully.

Prime laughed happily, retracting his facemask, and lowering his body on the others’. "I managed to beat you! That's great!" He revved his engine in delight. "You are an awesome fighter, Prowl, and it really makes the victory sweet. You could teach me that move you pulled; it really caught me off line, that whirling kick—unless it takes a few vorns to master..."

Prowl stiffened when Optimus revved his engine like that. He stared up at the other, his own mask retreating as well, not responding at first. But he shifted anxiously again, trying to distance his body a little from where Prime's front grill was.

"Some later time...much later." he said; meaning probably never.

The squirming was a little out of place, and it made Optimus blink. "Is there a problem? I didn't hurt you, right?" He backed off hastily from the ninja, sitting back on his heels, and pulling the other into a sitting position by the hand.

"I'm fine," Prowl grumbled, tugging his hand away when Prime tried to help him and began to stand on his own. "Trust me, if you had hurt me, you would know."

"Mm," Optimus made a face. "Suppose I would." He stood up as well and laid a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "Look, Prowl. I know that you are older than me, and that you surely aren't in my unit because you asked for it, but we're a team and we're supposed to work together. We managed to beat Starscream because we were strong enough helping each other. I respect your loner nature, but at times, you could be a little more...social."

Prowl turned stern eyes on Optimus, but not before a weary sigh escaped. How many times was that now that he'd been pegged with the "teamwork" lecture?

"I'm more than willing to work with the rest of you," he droned, "But that doesn't mean I have to socialize with you. If it's my skills in battle that you need, then that's all you should be asking of me."

"But it's not!" Optimus' fists curled up, as his spark twisted painfully in his chest. Why was this one so _stubborn_? Did he have zero social skills coded into those processors of his? Or did he have too many cooling fans installed?

"Prowl, we all value your fighting skills. We know that you are a real master of Circuit Su, and you're an excellent infiltrator; but we know nothing of you...! Would it hurt you to...open up a little bit toward your teammates? I'm sure they'd appreciate it." He hesitated a bit before he added. "I know I would."

"Why? So I can be a friend?" Prowl challenged. He shook his head, brushing past the young leader with a dismissive air. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Prime, but I'm not good with forming attachments. And, aside from that, even if it were possible...having such attachments will only hinder me."

The young leader's optics widened, and his intakes hissed sharply. Then, his shoulders sagged and he looked away. "Well, I...can't command you to do that." He said quietly, more to himself than to the departing ninja. "Next spar in two orns, same time...?"

"Sure," Prowl agreed. "But next time I'm not letting you win so easy."

"We'll see about that," Optimus murmured, and departed as well.


	6. Prowl and Prejudice 02

Prime didn't see Prowl very much after that, until the day that they arranged to have another sparring match. Between the last match and then, most of Optimus' time was spent in the company of Bumblebee, whenever he had some free time. Although they had by now established some boundaries about what could and couldn't be done where and when—and Bumblebee perfectly understood—it didn't stop them from sneaking a kiss or two in the halls.

When Prowl arrived for the sparring match, he had a grim-set expression in his optics and was...unusually...something. It wouldn't be right to say "quiet"—Prowl was always quiet. But something did seem off about him.

Optimus mentally ran through the happenings of the last two days—and didn't find anything Prowl should have been so upset about. There were no major rescue missions, no injuries, no arguments with teammates he knew about...so the young leader brushed it off for the time being. He pulled his axe out and nodded to his comrade. "Ready?"

Prowl got into a stance preparing a mecha star, "Just attack."

Prime considered the best tactic to use and decided to just go straight ahead. Watching Prowl carefully, he charged forward, ready to at least attempt to correct—turn, dodge, whatever, to avoid being hit.

The moment Prime charged ahead, Prowl's stance stiffened and he waited until the other was nearly upon him; and then, he suddenly rushed and dropped to the ground, using what little momentum he had and Prime's rush forward to slide under his legs and come up behind him. Once up, Prowl tossed his mecha star, the weapon chipping Prime's side while the ninja sped forward to meet for another attack.

The pain was surprising and distracting; Prime was thrown off line enough that the ninja's launch caught him and he fell on the floor, his axe slipping from his hand. "Ow," he commented, and tried to shake Prowl off.

"You've taken worse," Prowl grunted, attempting to land a punch—at Prime's head. Prime barely dodged it, and there was a resonating crunch against the ground. Prowl wasn't holding back a single shred of his strength.

"Come on, Prime, this is a rather weak start for you."

"Might be...but at least, it can only get better!" Optimus rolled on the ground to throw his comrade off, then leapt to his feet, and launched for his weapon. It was better in his hand than in the ninja's...and the extendable handle came in handy many times.

However, as Optimus was about to reach for the handle, he found it being promptly knocked out of his reach. Prowl had managed to kick it away, and once Prime wasn't able to get to it, the ninja wasted no time attempting a follow-up kick to Optimus' front grill afterwards.

Prime's blue optics widened and he curled up for a moment from pain—that _hurt_. His sensitive circuitry was sizzling, and as his engine revved, it brought more pain. "T-that was a bit too much..." he moaned and tried to struggle up.

"Are you going to say that when the Decepticons attack?" growled Prowl. "Your enemies are likely to be just as merciless. You have no place to complain."

"You are no Decepticon, Prowl, and this is a spar," Optimus growled back and finally stood, shaking his head. He crouched low, balled up his fists, and began to circle. "What is up with you?"

"I'm just insulted." Prowl snapped, tone flat as he circled as well. "I don't see how anyone on this base can expect me or anyone else to follow you as leader."

The young leader's vents roared up. "Excuse me, but care to share the reason why I'm suddenly not fit to be the leader of this unit?" Now seriously! What did he do? Wasn't he brave, or fit enough, or considerate? What the Pit was up with the antisocial glitch...? On the second thought, Prime launched forward, eager to bash some faceplate all of a sudden.

Prowl twisted out of the way and countered with a punch, once again to one of Prime's weaker areas in his torso. "You have no control, Prime!" cried the ninja, all but snarling, were it not for that tense tone in his vocals. "No matter how brave or compassionate you are, what you demonstrate in control and in maturity is appalling!"

"Prowl! Explain yourself this instant!" ...Okay, probably, at the very moment, he was indeed displaying considerably less maturity and control than he should have to, but Optimus was so perfectly clueless about the reason why Prowl was angry with him that he didn't give slag about it. He straightened and let his mask retract, his gaze all but piercing the other's black and golden armor.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about!" Prowl cried. "I don't know how you found about it—but what you're doing with Bumblebee is completely unacceptable!"

Prime actually took a step back, and his cheekplates heated up—oops. So, they were found out...but, wait a minute... "Prowl...you have nothing to do with my private life. Are you accusing me with something? If yes, specify, and I'll see if I can explain it."

Prowl's optics narrowed and his engine revved. Anger flashed through his face. "It's not done anymore, Prime," he said, vocals popping with static—such was the intensity of his fury. "There was a reason such things were banned on Cybertron! A leader should hardly be taking part in such illicit acts with such a horrible lack of control!"

"You think I'm unable to perform my duties to hundred percent merely because I'm indulging into an ancient Cybertronian custom?" Oddly enough, Prime felt calmer by the second. All this fussing arose because he interfaced with Bumblebee…? "Rest assured, Bee and I are both under Ratchet's keen surveillance, so if it influenced us to the worse, we would be stopped. Bee is definitely old enough to make his own decision in such a matter, and albeit I was skeptic first as well, it did a lot of good to me, too. I can assure you that I'm perfectly capable to give you and my teammates reasonable orders. You won't see me favoring Bumblebee in any way just because we're mates."

"Ratchet told you about this?" Prowl guessed, figuratively biting his glossa in his mouth to keep quiet. The ninja-bot didn't know if that made it better or worse—the last thing anyone expected of Ratchet was to give up information like that, especially on so old and abandoned a custom. Prowl was under the impression that the medic had tucked such data under pass and firewall vorns ago...

He shook his head, thrusting the idea from his mind. "You're missing my point! The fact that you're even doing this at all is inconceivable! If we were back on Cybertron—"

"First of all, Prowl, we are _not_ on Cybertron!" Optimus cut in. "We're on a friendly, but alien planet, which is so different from ours; I don't even think we'll ever understand it fully. Bumblebee needed the security I provided. Interfacing is not a crime, you know. It was abandoned as a practice, because it cost too much energy and time, and the emotional attachment sometimes led to illogical decisions. At the astro-second you feel that my judgment is influenced by my bonds, I expect you to step up and challenge me; but until it happens, I am your commander, and you have no right to question my leadership!" The young leader's intakes sucked in some air, to cool his insides. "If you have some other reasons, why I'm immature and unreliable, I'm listening, Prowl."

Prowl opened up his mouth to utter something, but clamped it shut in the very same second. His systems trembled for reasons that were hard to interpret—even infuriated, Prowl was hard to read—though it could without question primarily be anger.

Intakes hissing not unlike Prime's, several uncomfortable seconds passed before Prowl did something that his logic processors would probably be hurting for later in the day. He broke his only sparring rule and stormed past Prime, out of the room.

"I'm going for a drive," he said simply, sure enough disappearing around the corner as a black-and-gold super-bike with an irritated roar.

Optimus didn't follow him. He was sure that the ninjabot was very upset but he had no idea why. He doubted it was his reasoning what finally made him leave. There had to be something else. Optimus walked to the side and settled down to think. What could it be...? Intimacy was not forbidden back home, merely forgotten. It held some danger, but not as much as during the Great War...

Maybe Prowl was...jealous? No, that was a stupid thought. His logic circuits and his detached nature would not allow him to get upset about something this trivial. But then just what...? Prime was starting to regret not looking deeper into his comrades' files back home. They were just put together haphazardly; none of them really knew one another, aside Bee and Bulkhead. And it was biting them in the tailgate.

With a last sigh, the young leader decided to leave the matter alone for now - but he didn't plan on giving up on it. Prowl had doubts and Optimus had to eliminate them.

Prowl was gone for some time after that incident. Were any of the bots to get curious enough to find him (thankfully, none did), they would find him high up on one of the skyscrapers in Detroit, sitting by his lonesome—more than likely meditating.

The hours that trickled by, Prowl spent clearing his head and cooling his systems. As the cold night air settled in and the stars began to peek out, he reached an end to his process of thought; and, admittedly, was a little ashamed of his prior behavior. It was not a perfect picture of how he should act. For a few moments, Prowl hung his head, optics offline. Emotions were so troublesome sometimes; but it would be wrong to wish he didn't have them, however convenient it may seem to do so. If he were truly devoid of emotions, Primus never would have blessed him with such a wonderful partner...

...Well. Former partner, as it were.

He didn't return to the base until late that night, and when he was back, Prowl turned quietly down the halls with steadfast intent to shut himself in his quarters straightaway.

The upcoming days were relatively silent—Optimus didn't press the issue, and Prowl didn't make any comments. Instead of sparring, the young Prime started to drill the youngsters: showing them moves, learning their strengths and weaknesses, and spending a generous amount of time figuring out a good training plan for them. When he was not doing that, he dug up the documentation about them, wanting to find out what was public information.

Prowl's file was confusing; he had been a respected member of the Autobot Armed Forces. The file even contained a brief entry from a certain Jazz—Prime knew that mech, he was second-in-command now in the Elite Guard. It clearly spoke about Prowl's excellent skills, and it even mentioned, that they worked together. Optimus tapped his chin. Could it be...?

He got his answer, short of when next day, Bumblebee and Bulkhead returned from patrol, and Bee told them excitedly that they helped to put out a fire; which, according to the humans, was caused intentionally. Bee had asked the police officers who could have done that and why, and they said they'd have to investigate.

"Do you think we could help them?" Bee questioned, and Ratchet grumbled, like usual. "Slim chance, youngling; the only one among us programmed for that might be Prowl. Or back on Cybertron, I knew a mech, Jazz—now, he was a hot-headed glitch, but a fine investigator."

Prowl was his usual quiet self as this conversation went onward, although his optics dimmed as Ratchet's sentence neared its end. The world tuned out around him for a moment; how long it had been since he'd heard that name...

He was flung back in time, when the War was raging and he fought on Jazz's side...they made such a fine team. Jazz was always cheerful, even amidst the greatest destruction, singing battle songs to his comrades, keeping their spirit alive. They used to take missions together, slipping into Decepticon bases unnoticed, planting bombs...and they sometimes recharged in a corner, curled up against each other to share heat when things turned to the worst.

"Prowl...? Prowl! Autobot base to Prowl!"

Prowl's optics flickered with an audible jolt he was so startled, though it was all that showed of it aside the careful straightening of his shoulders.

"Hm...?" He turned his head in the direction of the voice. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

Bumblebee tilted his head to the side. "It's not you to space out like that. Is something the matter? By the way, I asked if you'd perhaps help your colleagues out. After all, you're the cop... Well, kinda."

"You know I'm more than willing to put my efforts in," Prowl grunted, skipping a response to Bumblebee's question altogether.

Optimus narrowed his optics slightly. It was an insane thought, but...he couldn't resist trying. "You knew Jazz, didn't you, Prowl? I was rearranging files the other day, and I found something he wrote about you. He had a high opinion of your abilities. Suppose you worked together? I know he's in the Elite Guard now, and he's second in command."

Prowl snapped his gaze in Prime's direction, stiffening. For a moment, his optics narrowed, but his stare wasn't quite so harsh. He couldn't say he really appreciated those files being looked at, but, it couldn't be helped.

"...He was my missions partner, once or twice, if you're really so anxious to know." Prowl shook his head. Second-in-command of the Elite...Prowl wasn't surprised. Jazz always was an outstanding officer.

"From what I heard, he must have been a great friend," Prime pushed on. "He's told to be quite cheerful, fun-loving..."

Prowl's internal systems heated slightly. Before that utterance, Optimus may have been able to slight by with the mention, but this was just transparent.

"He was a good soldier, and that is all." said the ninja, voice hollow and stern as ever.

"I don't doubt that," Prime nodded with a faint smile, and on his part, this conversation was closed.

Prowl just huffed a scoff from his vocals, not entirely believing that smile on Prime's face. Nevertheless, he let the matter drop, and soon enough was agreeing to get down to working on whoever had begun that fire.

After the fact, Prowl didn't take a lot of time to figure out who the culprit was, and as usual continued to perform at his best. However, for some two or three days afterward, Optimus would consistently bring up brief mention of Jazz in Prowl's presence—both when alone and when in the eyes of others. On Prowl's part, it was incredibly frustrating, and very annoying to be pestered so. He was only motivated to work more and more and stay far away from the leader whenever possible, yet the more he distanced himself, the more Optimus chipped at his processors. Now, Prowl was by no means an impatient person, but considering the topic of questioning, it didn't take long for him to get weary of the pestering.

Today, Optimus had decided to pick a time when he was perfectly happy by himself--Prowl was hard at work fixing a broken machinery panel in the base, when the leader (unfortunately) managed to find him, and Prowl was so focused on his work that he had no choice but to endure the questioning and hinting until he nearly snapped a cable.

"You just don't give up, do you, Optimus?" he hissed. "Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, Jazz—have you heard one complaint from me of you and Bumblebee since that day? This is quite unfair, not to mention childish."

"Wasn't it you who had labeled me as such?" Optimus countered, leaning against the wall. Then, his face softened. "On the other hand, you indeed made no remarks, and I'm thankful for that. Bee looks up to you, in a way, and it would have hurt him deeply, if you expressed your disapproval of his relationship with me."

Sighing heavily, Prowl leered up at the bot, dropping his tools to lean against the panel after closing it. "You should instead be working to _refute_ my misspoken words, else they'll start becoming truth," he grumbled. "If I tell you what you want to know, do you promise to let sleeping systems lie?"

"The only thing I want to know is why you were so disturbed when you found us out," Optimus shook his head. "I failed to get it, because the answer I found...doesn't suit you." His voice turned very soft then. "You loved him, didn't you?"


	7. Prowl and Prejudice 03

The black-and-gold bot looked up steadily at his companion, and, without missing a beat, chuckled bitterly. If only Jazz could hear this.

"Given my behavior around the lot of you, I'm not surprised you were confused..." his optics turned away; Prowl drew one leg up and rested an arm on the knee-joint. He was silent, deep in thoughts and memories. Thinking back to those days long ago when he was still working alongside Jazz and the other soldiers...

"...Jazz...I did love him." The words were so quiet even Optimus had to strain his audios to hear. "By the time I was with the soldiers, sparkbonding had already all but vanished. Because of that...at most, we were simply mission partners. But, if we had the choice, then, we would have..."

The young Prime crouched down and lightly stroked the other's arm. "So you're not sparkless, after all," he smiled. "You can be sad or happy, too. I'm looking forward to seeing you smile." He sighed. "I won't want to hear more—this is your private secret. I will not mention him again, either. I care for you, Prowl, and I want you to know that if you need anything, you can always count on me. I'm your appointed leader; but I'd feel most honored, if you thought about me as a friend as well."

For once, Prowl didn't shrug the attention away—but he did go stiff and shift uncomfortably under that hand. "I don't exactly have good experience with friends, Prime. I'm not social, never will be. Jazz was one of the only real friends I had..." his frown creased deeper, "And how I ended up as a repair-bot nearly cost him his job."

"We all have our secrets," Optimus said quietly. "Well, maybe aside Bee and Bulkhead; they're too young to have dark spots in their pasts. But, regardless of that, I trust you with my life. Once you find the strength inside your spark to do the same...you'll have as many friends as any of us. You're a good mech, Prowl."

Prowl turned his head up at the words, then looked away again. He got lost in the past again; flashes of a star-white face, the way he smiled, the way he laughed. _You're a good mech, Prowl_. He would say that to him, even after he pulled out all the stops to lessen the punishment for his screw-up. Primus, what a mess that had been; Prowl had messed up bad that time; nearly became unemployed because of it. Had he truly lost his job as a soldier, it would have been very difficult to find a suitable job anywhere else thereafter; he had been so devastated with himself, he wouldn't stop sulking for orns at a time. Jazz tried to comfort him, then.

"Even if it were the dirtiest job on Cybertron, I would rather work than sit on my aft and do nothing," Prowl told him. Jazz listened. He pestered and petitioned and squandered everything he had, and thank Primus his excellent skills had put him in the good graces of Ultra Magnus—Sentinel Prime had been none too happy with Jazz's arm-twisting and had all but thrown the both of them out on their afts hand-in-hand.

Prowl never even properly thanked him for it...

...Damn it all.

Prowl fought back the sigh of his intakes, standing on his feet and pacing slowly towards the door. "It's not that I don't trust you, Prime. I know what I said before, when we first woke up on this planet; but it's been changing, slowly. I do trust you. But I've told you before, I'll never be social. It's not in my programming."

"Programming sometimes evolves." The young leader smiled brightly, and pulled his comrade into a loose embrace. "We were not programmed to protect the Allspark, either, now were we? Okay, I'm not asking you to party with us. It'd do if you just sat on the side and didn't leave."

Prowl stopped in his pacing, standing still in Prime's arms for a while. His optics dimmed a bit.

Hesitantly, after a pause, he lifted an arm to loosely wrap it around one of Prime's. "You know, you're not quite the same as him...but your optimism...he always had a lot of that, too..." Prowl trailed off when he realized he was talking too much. This was possibly the longest conversation he'd had with anyone on base ever. The ninja leered briefly up at Optimus. "This is confidential, what I'm telling you," he grunted.

"Of course," Prime nodded firmly. "It goes without saying." His spark was pulsing, a bit quicker than usual; it arched up a bit, sensing its counterpart's sadness nearby, instinctively wanting to soothe it, but Optimus resisted. If Prowl wanted something, he'd say it. The young mech, as his leader, long decided to not initiate with his comrades—if they didn't trust him enough to approach him, then they were clearly not ready for anything.

Prowl fell quiet again, staring directly ahead of him after Prime's affirmation. He could feel a very faint thrum of energy tugging softly at him, and it went without guessing who it could have been. There were only two bots in this room.

Yet Prowl hesitated. It had been a long time since he'd had anyone's company, friendly or otherwise—even during his time as a repair-bot, much of his time was spent in solitude. Had he ever felt the need for this kind of contact, he would lock the door to his quarters and do it himself—Prowl cried for Jazz, and only Jazz.

There had been so much mention of him lately, though, that the nostalgia hit him like a ton of steel. Slowly, Prowl eased backwards against Prime's frame—maybe, just this once, he could make an exception.

Optimus loosely wrapped his arms around the slender, dark form, and lowered his chin on top of Prowl's head. "You know..." he began quietly, "I don't think they can make us forget much longer. Our bodies may not be made for contact anymore, but our sparks still need this. Unless we stop feeling, our sparks will continue to crave for each other."

The black-and-gold bot hummed slightly in agreement, squeezing his arm a bit tighter around one of Prime's. "It's possible no one ever intended to have us forget. Wars are hard to predict...they could rage on for vorns or be over as quick as they started."

"We'll get back home," Optimus said full of confidence. "And then, you'll seek out Jazz. I'm sure you have a chance to win his spark."

Prowl sure hoped so. It had been a long time since he'd even spoken to Jazz, let alone seen him. He hadn't known until Optimus mentioned it that the mech had made it to second-in-command of the elite forces.

The bot turned his head a bit, easing back against Prime's frame a little more. "Until then...would you mind doing me a favor?"

"Sure. You only have to ask." The young Prime made the promise easily—he knew Prowl enough to know he wouldn't abuse the trust put into him, and wouldn't ask for anything ridiculous.

Prowl's spark pressed eagerly against the walls of its casing, and he allowed its lonely call to break through the seams for the first time since he couldn't remember when. He half-turned in Prime's arms, looking up at the other with optics that seemed brighter than usual.

"If it doesn't bother you...I...need some help, getting him off my mind."

"I'm not sure I can do that," Optimus said quietly. "But if you'd like to try, I'll gladly help. And...It’s alright if you call his name instead of mine. I know well what this is about."

Prowl blinked, and something in his faceplates tensed a bit. "That wouldn't..." he paused in his own sentence, mouth pressing thin. He only nodded his head, and went to lock the door. If Bumblebee were to interrupt, it would take a lot of explaining from both of them, and Prowl was neither ready nor willing to debunk the little bridge-builder's suspicions, especially at the cost of revealing his private information. Not to mention, it would be stressful on Prime.

The young leader stretched a bit, and settled down, making himself comfortable. He waited patiently for his comrade's return, inviting him closer with an outstretched hand. "I know that calling one name while you're in another's arms is something you'd never do," he clarified. "But according to my experience, an overload makes it hard to think, and if you somehow slip, it will not hurt my feelings at all. I honestly hope you'll end up with him."

"Hmph," Prowl scoffed, returning to where he saw Prime had become comfortable as the door gave a secure beep. "Selfless as always..."

He joined Prime's outstretched hand with his own, and settled in the leader's lap, straddling him, one hand laid carefully against his chest. Prowl managed a slight smirk, the free hand making a gentle stroke across his chestplates and running over the blinds of his front grill. "Maybe you're a better leader than I imagined."

"I...t-try my best..." Optimus' voice broke with a moan as pleasure flared up inside him when the grill was touched. He wrapped his hands around the slender black waist, stroking lightly. "I've learned a lot about you, too. And if you guide me, I'll learn more. Show me where to touch."

Prowl hummed quietly and arched into those hands, guiding one of them to the plating between his legs. "Here," he directed, fingers still brushing against and between the slits of Prime's grill, "and the wings on my armor, too."

"Really...?" The young Prime's optics widened. "Between your legs, like the humans...? That's interesting." He rubbed his fingers against the plating—at least, he saw plenty of times how to do that. His body was heating up already quite nicely. The fact that is was not Bee's yellow frame in his lap made him a bit nervous, but a little excited, too. He wanted to give his best, and please Prowl.

Prowl had a reply to that, but it was sacrificed for the better of pressing his lips thin and rocking a bit against the hand that stimulated his plating. A small groan of approval escaped as Prowl felt his systems reacting: sensors becoming more sharply attuned, temperature gradually climbing the scales. The ninja-bot returned the favor by continuing his ministrations on Prime's front grill, occasionally leaving it to lean against his chest and run his hands over the younger mech's body. They were on Prime's chest, over a shoulder plate, reaching up to brush against his helm—seeking out other hot spots. 

"My audio-sensors..." Prime moaned, arching into the touches. The usual signs were already registering: rising temperature, overworking vents, fine servo glitches. "Prowl...can I kiss you?" The affectionate gesture had become part of the interfacing ritual, and Optimus found that he was really fond of it.

Prowl managed a smirk as he found Prime's audios, taking one between his fingers and stroking it lovingly. "Mmmm-hm," It was a heavy, rumbling purr, and the only acknowledgement Prowl gave aside from his system's intake of air as he leaned in and pressed his lips against Prime's. 

The young leader moaned loudly into the kiss, offlining his optics from the bliss as their energy fields clashed. He continued rubbing the plating between Prowl's legs, more forcefully now, and his free hand slipped up to the shoulders, to fondle the protruding golden pieces of armor there. 

The mech responded by moving his hips against Prime's hand, body arching and shivering when the younger leader began to stimulate the golden wings streaking over his shoulders. Prowl was literally squirming as he felt their fields intertwining, his temperature spiking in response. He was all but groping the leader, fingers pressing against Prime's audios and stroking his grill, paying attention to every surface he came across, and he groaned softly into the kiss as he ran his glossa over Prime's lips. 

It didn't take long until Optimus felt like melting in the inside. He was gasping, his body trying to cool down every way possible, he was moaning and trembling, close to overload, so close...

Suddenly, he promptly grabbed Prowl, and lifted him up a bit, so his sensitive paneling was pressed against the grill; and then, Prime revved his engine. 

Prowl moaned and practically curled against Prime's body, hips moving against his front grill to press his heated panel against the warm, rumbling surface, creating friction with the motions to add upon the already shudder-inducing sensations. Prowl was all but clinging to his partner, intakes hissing furiously for air and only blowing out more heat, and he was edging so close to overload it was driving him mad. 

Optimus buried his face into the black and gold chest, moaning, occasionally brushing his lips against the smooth, hot surface. "Oh, Primus...I'm...Prowl, I can't...!" A few more desperate revs, each louder than the previous, and the young leader's frame arched backwards, his hold on the other tightening, and a strained whimper escaping his vocalizer, as the surge crushed down on him, sweeping through his entire sensory grid, frying it out in the process. 

The smaller black-and-gold mech was trembling, and it was all he could do not to melt into a puddle of bolts and wires. Prime's voice reached his vocals and Prowl rocked anxiously against the other as his engine roared, tensing at the intense pleasure and hissing another quiet moan. Again and again, that sound, a desperate impassioned cry that Optimus could barely hear before Prowl clung to him in overload.

Prowl cut his vocals silent as his systems surged with energy, frying every grid in his possession, because the name that left him wasn't Prime's. No matter how Optimus had said he wouldn't mind, Prowl didn't want to feel _that_ heartless; he'd already been selfish enough in the first place. 

And it was all over—processors rebooted, intakes sucked cool air in and vents spat out hot. Servos stopped malfunctioning, and Optimus loosened his death grip on his partner. He gently ran a thumb down Prowl's face. "You alright?" 

As Prowl shook himself out of recovery, his systems slowly sorting themselves out, he only turned his head and pressed a bit against the thumb that caressed his faceplates. "Hmmm...I'm fine. Better, actually..."

"Glad to hear," Optimus nodded with a smile. "You have talented hands." 

For once, as the mech responded, his lips curled upward in a genuine smile in return. "Thank you, Optimus." he said, for several reasons he was sure the other knew already. 

The young leader stretched with a happy little moan. "Well then...everything's back in its perfect working order. And there's even some left from today."


	8. Let It Shine 01

"Ratchet...? How is—" 

_"He’s doing fine!!"_ The medic marched up to the young Prime and forcefully ushered him out of the med bay. "Primus damn you, I _know_ you're worried, but he'll live! He didn’t get shot in the chest or get a processor blown. Bee will be alright! Now get your shiny aft outta here, and let me work! He'll be up when he'll be up, and I'll kick him out immediately, trust me!"

He let the door slam shut, and he sighed. "That's why we chose to forsake bonding..." He walked back to the inner room, where the little yellow mech was resting still, in a stasis. The repairs required it, but he was bound to come to himself sooner or later. 

Before Ratchet had put him under, Bumblebee's side had been burning down to the circuits, and it hurt to move the injured area too much. Acid was not kind on metal, let alone the damage it could do to a Transformer. The stasis took the pain away, at least for however long Bee remembered being that way. He started to regain consciousness after a time, though he didn't switch his optics on—just didn't feel like seeing yet, honestly. Part of that reason may be due to the fact that Bee had woken up in the middle of his repairs.

The little scout didn't need his optics to know Ratchet was working dutifully away. Skilled white fingers were buried wrist-deep in his circuitry, repairing the once-painful damage with practiced attention to detail. Ratchet would let no damage slip past his diagnostics scans. It wasn't really painful to be awake during the procedure; even with his patients in stasis, it seemed Ratchet tended to cut down on sensory flow to the damaged area, and so all Bumblebee felt was a tickling swish of fingers over wire bundles...enough to let him know that Ratchet would hate to be interrupted right now.

Naturally, the little mech kept quiet.

The medic filled up the gaps with some special alloy and sighed. "You stupid young thing...taking that hit, what were you thinking? Meltdown's acid even hurts us..." he carefully ran a finger over the edge of the wound. "It was a brave thing, though. You’re not a bad kid...just a bit-brain at times. Hopefully you'll grow outta that." 

_Bit-brain?_ Thought Bumblebee, _Who's he calling a bit-brain?!_ He didn't voice the protest, though—it wasn't often anyone got to hear Ratchet speaking like this. The tone of voice the medic was using wasn't exactly familiar; most of the time, to Bumblebee's knowledge, he just grumped and groused a lot. This was different...kinder.

Did Ratchet always talk to stasis patients like this? 

"You could be glad you know nothing of the Great War," the medic went on, restoring burned circuitry. "I've seen so many like you get terminated back then..." He paused for a moment, and he looked away. "Too many...freshly sparked, eager little glitches...they paid no heed to warnings, thought they'd be heroes...and the Cons turned them to molten slag. You should take better care of yourself. Sari's key won't save you all the time." He turned away for a few seconds, fetching a tool. Then, as he turned back, he let his gaze linger on the small relaxed form. "You’re a good kid, really. You'll be a fine mech if you live to see that day." 

_Yeah, you're darn right I will,_ Bee cheered. Don't count me out just yet, doc. I ain't got any intention of dying on you or the others.

He jumped slightly when one of Ratchet's tools was suddenly working on his insides. _You could warn me when you do that!_ Oh, wait—right. He was pretending. Well...

Bumblebee's vocals hissed a bit as they crackled online. "Ungh...a little warning before you stick things into me would be nice." 

"You're online?" Ratchet barely kept himself from doing more damage accidentally, than that he just repaired. "Primus damn your processors, what are you thinking?! You're going back to stasis this instant!" He picked up the medical EMP generator and set it.

"Aww, why...!" Bee whined, flicking his optics online. "I liked listening to you talk! I'll go back to faking my stasis, and you can keep talking to an unconscious bot, how about that instead?" he asked, flashing a wide, innocent grin. 

Ratchet's optics narrowed and the generator twitched in his hand. "So you like making fun of the old medic-bot, eh? Well, I'll be happy to see your face the next time you get into trouble; I'll forget to switch off your receptors! Self-important little glitch, you're not even good for spare parts!" For a fleeting astro-second, he even considered tampering with the youngling's memory core, but the thought didn't linger. Ratchet's spark gave a painful twist. "As they say it on Earth: 'goodnight, sweet prince'."

Bumblebee frowned. "I wasn't making fun of you!" he cried. _And all of a sudden, I'm a self-important little glitch..._ "I was just listening in a little...and what's this about not being good for spare parts? Whatever happened to becoming a fine mech someday?" 

"You will be a decoration in a junkyard, if you don't learn that some things are not meant to be heard!" Ratchet hissed. "Whatever I said, forget about it, and never mention it again. Am I making myself clear, you yellow menace?!" 

"Oh, you mean you don't want the others to know that you can be _nice_?" retorted the little scout. Before Ratchet could potentially worsen his physical damage, Bumblebee added to the sentence. "Look, Ratchet. We all know you've been through a lot, and that you're a veteran of the Great War and all that fancy stuff, but that doesn't mean you have to be such a crusty old bot all the time. Loosen your bolts once in a while, why don't you!" Bee added, smiling a bit, "The way you talked to me a few cycles ago...I liked it. I think the others would, too. Because it sounds like you genuinely appreciate us, you know? You're always yelling and grumbling so much and we never know what to think about you." 

The EMP pulse came without a warning, hitting Bee's processors, and knocking them out for good. The medic placed the device down, and slowly ran a hand down on the yellow helm. "Primus damn you little glitches..." he whispered with a small, sad smile on his lips, "How the Pit did you manage to grow on me so much...?" With yet another sigh, he resumed working, finishing the repairs.

This time, Bumblebee didn't wake up until well after the repairs were complete. His bright optics flashed and he ran a quick scan on himself—good as new. Not that he expected anything less from Ratchet.

But, for Primus' sake, the medic didn't have to shut him down in the middle of a good speech. The scout sat up, rubbing idly at his horns like he had a human headache, turning about until he spotted Ratchet cleaning up from his work in a corner of the medical bay. Bumblebee pressed his metallic lips into a pout.

"I wasn't done talking," he complained, finding it ironic that he was the one grumbling before Ratchet had even uttered a word.

"Get out of the med bay. You're fine, and Prime's surely out of his processors from worry. Go to him. But no bonding for two orns, the energy fluctuation could disturb the freshly welded parts..." 

Bumblebee narrowed his optics. Curt, business-like...there was nothing left of the Ratchet that had talked to him during his supposed stasis. Or, at least, the medic had buried that part deep under armored plating again.

"Fine," he snipped, rather disappointed as he hopped down from the berth. Bumblebee went straight for the door, pouting the whole way—but he paused just after opening the entryway, looking over his shoulder...flashing a grin that the medic couldn't see.

"And thanks for the repairs. It was really _sweet_ of you."

Quickly, he darted off down the halls, before anything damaging could follow after. There was no crash or clank indicating a thrown wrench, though.

This wasn't over yet; he'd get Ratchet to open up and be _nice_ again, even if he had to toss himself into stasis again just to do it. Really, it was for the doc's own good—he was such a tight bolt, Bee didn't think the strongest wrench could pry him loose. 

Ratchet's shoulders slumped and he dropped drown on a chair with a heavy sigh. So long ago...he swore that he won't get attached to any other bot, because he always lost the ones before...it was too painful. These younglings were lucky for not knowing war. They were such great, promising mechs, all of them...

The medic shook his head. _No, no, you're doing it wrong, you old rusty fool._ Why was it getting so much harder to hide behind his carefully crafted walls...?


	9. Let It Shine 02

Even if Ratchet hadn't mentioned it to him, the first mech Bumblebee would have gone off to see would have been Optimus. He may be naïve and irritating at times, but he knew without question that the leader would want confirmation of his status as soon as possible.

So, the little yellow scout hurried along down the halls—he passed Sari, and was good to stop and say hello to her, for the human girl had been just as worried as Prime must be. Prowl was brooding in a corner somewhere as Bee passed, and he peeked his little head in to wave and announce that he still lived before going along his merry way. He bumped into Bulkhead, and narrowly survived a bear-hug in the thankful larger mech's vice-like grip.

Finally, Bumblebee reached Prime's room. The door was wide open for him to enter, and his blue-and-red partner was stretched out along an extensive line of stacked mattresses and pillows serving for a bed. Grinning to himself, Bee stepped softly from the point of entry, sneaking up to where Optimus was sleeping, climbing onto the mattress without causing a scratch to himself.

Bee planted his presence directly onto Optimus' chest, reinforced glass creaking at its edges, but it wouldn't break. It would take more than a little weight to hurt Optimus Prime.

"Guess who, sleepy-head?" the scout teased, applying a bit of pressure between the other's optics with one finger.

Said blue optics clicked online, and in the next moment, two strong arms held the little mech tight, and a pair of eager lips pressed against his. 

"I was worried," Optimus stated the obvious when he broke the contact several long seconds later. "I'm glad to see you're fully functional again. Though I have no idea whether to scold you for being reckless or praise you for taking the hit for Bulkhead." He caressed the yellow head fondly. "You did well, my Bumblebee. You acted like a real soldier." 

"Thanks." Bumblebee couldn't resist a snicker, lips pulling up at the corners in an impish smile. "Doc told me how worried you were; I thought I might come in and make you feel better." He patted the top of Prime's chest. "Feeling better?" 

"Much," Prime smiled sweetly, and his hand slipped to the side which took the hit. "Mm, good as new...Ratchet really knows what he's doing and he's very good at it. There's not even the slightest scar." 

"Yeah, he did good. Like we could expect anything less?" Bee's chest puffed out as he spoke, expression giving the idea that he was showing off. Bumblebee's confidence was insatiable—he bounced back like a boomerang. He was already feeling bigger than usual; ready to take on the world.

Still, he did have thoughts that were itching on the edges of his processors. "Doc says no bonding for a couple of orns," Bee reported. Disappointing, but dismissive—he could wait a couple of orns without dying. Bumblebee stretched out, moving backwards until he was nearly sitting on the slats of Prime's grill, leaning his front against the fire truck's broad chest. His elbows braced against the paintjob, and he cupped his chin in his hands. "And the strangest thing happened while I was in the med bay." 

The news was regrettable, but Optimus suspected something like that, given how an overload put quite a strain on one's system. At Bee's last line he raised an optic ridge, his hands sliding up on sleek yellow thighs, cupping the scout's shapely little aft. "I suppose you'd like to share, so please, do." Prime's interest was piqued. What could have happened...?

"Well, Doc put me in stasis to do the work, and I woke up in the middle of it. I didn't want to interrupt him during his work, though, so I kept quiet for a little while..." Bumblebee tilted his head. "Did you ever wake up to him muttering to you while you were in stasis?" 

Optimus shook his head. "No. I've had only one injury which required stasis—you surely remember—my thigh and knee-joint got damaged, shortly after you and Bulkhead joined the team. But I was offline during the whole repair process. What did he say...?" 

"Things that made me double-check my audios to see if I was hearing him right," Bumblebee answered. He waved one hand briefly, "Mumbled about the Great War and all that, which was expected. But then he started going on...said how brave I was, that I would be a fine mech someday." His face beamed on the last three words. "It was _nice_. Why can't Doc be like that _all_ the time?"

"He was also quite nice with me, when I asked him about bonding," Optimus smiled. "I was thinking about it, too. You know, when he put my grapples back after Lockdown took them..." He shivered briefly, the experience was still sort of vivid in his memory core, and it was not his fondest one. "We ended up talking. He told me how he met with that bounty hunter during the Great War...it was nasty. I think he was always nice before the war...and all the grumpy attitude was sort of forced on him by all the pain and sadness."

Bee's expression slowly sank at its corners. "Yeah, but, it's so _detached_. I guess I can understand where it came from...sort of...I don't think I would be very cheery after seeing so many people die, either."

Bumblebee stretched out along the length of Prime's body. "But the Great War is over. Wouldn't it be better for him if he...I don't know; got some _connections_? Maybe, treated us less like sparkling brats and more like we were friends? More like the way he talked to you and me those couple of times." He fingered the top of Prime's chest idly as he spoke, optics observing his partner's facial features. "I think the biggest problem is that he's lonely. He barely speaks a word to any of us; when he does, it's more like he's grumbling or yelling; he holes himself up in that med bay and he hardly comes out." 

"I think, on a certain way, he's afraid," Optimus said quietly. "He has seen many die, and he surely lost a lot of good friends...so he doesn't make new ones, or tries not to, because he doesn't want to feel the pain again." 

"Well, that's no way to live life." Bumblebee pouted. Just as quickly as he did, his intakes cycled in a sort of sigh. "I wonder if Ratchet knows how frustrating he can get." 

"Do you have an idea how frustrating _you_ can get...?" 

"You like me that way," retorted the little scout, sticking out his silvery glossa like human children did when they were being particularly smart. 

Prime laughed. "I do, but it was not the point. I think he does. After all, we tell that to him constantly, don't we? But maybe he thinks it's alright...maybe he doesn't want to cause pain to us." 

"It's selfish!" complained the younger mech. "How could he ever cause us any pain?" Bumblebee didn't like it—Ratchet had everything going for him with this small team of mechs. He had hands reaching out for him, asking him for companionship. But he grouched and moaned and pushed them all away. It didn't matter how it was justified—it just didn't sit right with him.

Thinking about it, and feeling a little defeated, Bumblebee relaxed against Prime's form with another sigh. "Ah, I don't know," he groaned, laying his head under Prime's. "Maybe I'm thinking too much." 

"Think about it," Optimus whispered. "Let’s say you manage to befriend Ratchet. And then, something terrible happens...and he dies. It would be awful, wouldn't it...? To lose a dear friend like him...?" 

Bee's voice dropped to a near whisper. "But it's better to have friends to lose than to have none at all." 

"The latter is less painful, after you get used to being alone." Optimus caressed his little mate's back. "Not that I'd know...I've never been in Ratchet's place. However...if he admitted that he has hopes for you, I think, he already feels something for us. Maybe he thinks we'll take him less seriously if he stops grumbling." 

"Hmm," Bumblebee arched his form a little to better accommodate the soothing strokes along his back, smiling rather dreamily as he crossed his arms under his chin. "What do _you_ think, Optimus? Will I be a 'fine mech' someday?"

"You'll have to put some effort into it;" the leader's voice was laced with amusement, "But I have high hopes for you, too, yes. I think you'll be a very fine mech indeed." He lightly traced his finger over a small horn. "My fine mech..." 

The yellow mech tilted his head in the direction of that touch, prodding the tip of his horn against the pad of Optimus' finger with a satisfied grin. "Now I'll have to not let you guys down," he replied.


	10. Let It Shine 03

A few orns passed before Bumblebee gathered up the guts to visit Ratchet in the medical bay. He had less chances of getting grouched at if he went back after being fully repaired, and besides, part of the reason was that Ratchet himself had called him down for a check-up. It was a perfect opportunity, though, for Bumblebee to try and crack that grouchy outer shell. So when the little scout showed up in the med bay, he walked a few steps, jogged, and leapt up onto the berth with a cheeky smirk.

"I’m ready for my check-up, Doc!" 

"Sit still then." Ratchet seemed mildly bored, and grumpy as ever. He fetched a scanner, and held it over Bee's wounded side. "Mmm, nothing off the scale, you're healing nicely. I'll run a few more tests just to make sure there's nothing amiss, and then you can go and I don't even want to see you anywhere near my med bay." 

Bumblebee's smile vanished the minute those words left Ratchet's vocals, but he waited until the medic had gotten started on the second test before he spoke.

"So here we are, working and living in the same space as teammates, and you'd rather we be strangers?" 

The medic spared him an annoyed glance. "I sense a vocalizer malfunction." 

"I do too. That didn't answer my question." 

"Because it made no sense," Ratchet retorted. "I have no idea what you are trying to say, kid; and frankly, I think we'd both be a lot better off if you didn't try so hard." 

Bumblebee's intakes briefly hissed in a bout of frustration. "Then I'll rephrase. Why are you so insistent on being all alone? You're always shouting at us and complaining and keeping yourself locked up in here. Why, Ratchet?" 

"Because that's what I do!" the medic snarled. "I have work to do here, unlike some little glitches who prance around with humans all day, listening to the grass grow. Like any of you is interested in my grumbling! I'm fine the way I am." 

" _I'm_ not interested in your grumbling," Bumblebee argued, not backing down. "I'm interested in what you're like when you're _not_ growling and waving a wrench in our faces."

Ratchet's face contorted into another angry bare of metallic teeth. As he turned from Bumblebee, the scout caught him by the arm. "I know that you've got something in that spark of yours other than all these nasty comments and complaints, Ratchet. I've seen it twice already, and I'm not above persisting until you give me an answer."

No response. Bee was getting irritated—did he really have to be so stubborn?

"This isn't the Great War, Ratchet!" he cried. "Sure, we face some heavy danger now and again, but it's not like we have to worry about getting our afts shot offline when we turn every corner! But you spend all this time making work for yourself instead of getting to know us...you still act like we're in the middle of that War!" 

"You have _no idea_ what it was like back then!" the medic hollered, his optics wavering. "You've only seen real death for a minute or two; you don't have the _slightest_ idea how it feels when somebody's spark goes out under your hands! You've never held broken mechs in your arms so they wouldn't have to be alone in their final minutes! You've never wanted to rip out a component from yourself, or die, so a friend could live!" He jabbed a finger into Bumblebee's chest. "The war is not over until not a single one of the Decepticons is alive!" 

"Don't chastise me on this!" Bumblebee was shouting back, emotions flaring. His armor clanged when Ratchet smudged his finger against it, and Bumblebee leaned into it, making pressure. "What do you think I was doing out there with Bulkhead and Meltdown, huh, Doc?! I might not have had the same experiences as you, but don't think for a nanosecond that I wouldn't be willing to die in someone else's place— _including_ yours!" 

Ratchet stared at the agitated little scout, his angry expression slowly melting into something akin to defeated resignation. "I've never said you don't have it in you," he said, his voice somewhat veiled. "What you two little glitches did...was not something you were programmed for. It was a great thing. But be very happy that you don't have to do it on a daily basis." 

His voice dropped down a few notches. Bumblebee was searching Ratchet's expression for something past what was on the surface—any sort of hint that he might be able to get a little more out of the medic than a few pain-tinged words and complaints.

"All that scrap you spouted earlier about emotional detachment, about it being better this way, with no one being bonded to one another...do you preach that because you believe that it works?" 

"It never fragging does." Ratchet looked down. "I bet even high-and-mighty Ultra Magus is seeing a mate every so often. Not to mention some others...but it's so much easier when there's nobody in the middle of your spark. It spares you the pain when he's ripped out from there." 

"So, what...? You're just going to keep going on like this, being by yourself? You don't know _when_ we're going to die, Ratchet, but I promise we won't be scrapping out on you for at least another couple of vorns."

Bumblebee leaned forward, the medic bot being close enough that he could lean on his shoulder, chin propped on his hands as they overlaid Ratchet's armor. "Maybe it will hurt when we die. It might hurt a lot. More than it did all of the other times. But why live your life expecting that pain? Why not just _forget it_ for a while and _be_ with us?" He paused for a moment, watching Ratchet's optics for any change.

"Humans have an old saying for it. _Carpe Diem_ —seize the day." 

For the first time, there was pain in the medic's optics. "I'm too old for that." he shook his head, "All the past, all its weight just won't get off my shoulders. It's enough when you are a hundred percent functional and go on your merry ways without a worry. You just go and love Prime, and fool around with Bulkhead. Leave me with my old wounds and rusty memories." 

Bumblebee's legs crossed; he kept his optics fixed on Ratchet's from the side. That the medic was hurting, truly hurting, wasn't as much an astonishment as it was a revelation. Anyone would be in pain, after being through what Ratchet had dealt with. It was only that most showed it more than he did. Most didn't hide it away.

Bumblebee didn't think it was possible for Ratchet to look frail. Ratchet wasn't the frail type. But, seeing the pain that flickered across his optics, Bee realized how much he never noticed about the medic before. He was tired; he was _old_. Of course, Bee knew that Ratchet was old (sometimes, he jokingly suspected the mech was more ancient than the Allspark), but he was always so ready to work, always doing so much for them, always _hiding_ ; Bumblebee and the others never had the time to notice. Ratchet's age didn't stop at the physical level; it sank deeper, straight into his spark, swirling under faded blue optics that had seen so much death and destruction. Ratchet's age was drenched with knowledge and scarred by war.

"I don't think so." He spoke quietly after a time. "After knowing the truth, you expect me to leave you alone again? Not a chance, Doc." 

A short laughter spilled from the medic's vocalizer, partly sad, partly amused. "I know...you're a stubborn little glitch." He laid a hand on the yellow shoulder. "When you stop behaving like a sparkling high on energon candy, and act like a mech...You’re an amazing little fellow, Bee. You remind me of somebody...he was the same as you when he was young: a hot-headed little troublemaker. Still he turned out to be one of the best warriors the Elite Forces ever had." 

Bumblebee quirked his head one way; his optics widened slightly, broadcasting curiosity. "Can I ask who it was?" 

"Who he is," Ratchet corrected. "He's one of the few lucky mechs who survived all that time in the Pit. His name is Ironhide. I’ve known him since I was sparked. We've been...good friends." 

A grin slapped itself on Bumblebee's face; he couldn't help it. The way Ratchet said "good friends" was posed so vaguely; how could he not reach a different conclusion? And he also had the sneaking suspicion that he might be right. But for now, he let it rest.

Ironhide...Ironhide...

"Wait...I think I've heard that name before." Bumblebee's optics dimmed, narrowed, while he sifted through his memory banks for the information. "Wasn't he, like, head of the Weapons Department?" How ironic, that a medical officer would fall for a weapons specialist... 

"Exactly that. He trained at Autobot Academy, like all the others...when I was put on practice, to get the experience I needed for my medical degree, I was sent there as an assistant to the school doc. I saw him quite often, when he was not getting into fights; he had scratches, cracks, pulled cables. He was a horrible patient, whining and wiggling... _after_ I tied him down, because he was the tough one who took the hits with a broad chassis, insisting everything was fine..." Ratchet shook his head, with a smile. "But, he was a great friend with a huge spark, and a brave soldier. He even saved Magnus' aft once." 

"Sounds like a really memorable guy." Bumblebee's smile was less amused and more genuine now; softer, devoid of his usual mischief. He was still leaning on Ratchet's shoulder, but the medic wasn't protesting, so Bee didn't move to detach.

"Do you miss him?" 

Ratchet tensed. He didn't want to answer. It hurt so much...but finally, his optics flickered offline, and he leaned against the smaller, yellow frame. "More than anything." he whispered, "More than Cybertron itself."

Bumblebee nuzzled the mech in return when the other found some solace in his presence. "Do you...love him?" 

"Do you love Prime...?" 

"Heh," Bee smirked a little, "So 'yes'." 

"We were mates." Ratchet murmured, "Spark-bonded mates." He let out a whirring sigh, and embraced Bee, soaking up the warmth from his frame. It felt so nice...so relaxing. "We were each other's first partners." He chuckled. "He was so nervous, his hands were shaking." 

By this point, Bumblebee didn't have the capacity to be startled by anything Ratchet did, including pulling him into a warm hug. He just kept smiling, and draped his arms over the mech's shoulders, the berth underneath him putting him on even ground with Ratchet's height.

"But I bet you were at least somewhat expecting it," Bumblebee replied. The first time he and Optimus had done anything together, the last thing the yellow scout had planned on was going into overload with Prime there with him. Silence settled over them like a blanket, quieting their individual doubts while they stood there embracing each other...two friends patching each other's wounds.

"You know, Optimus and I...we haven't...done anything yet...with our sparks." 

"You will." Ratchet smiled, his optics still offline. "When you're both ready, it'll happen. It'll change many things."

Bumblebee broke the hug after a while, but didn't stop watching the medic with a fixated gaze, leaning forward from the berth curiously as he spoke. "Hey, I know you told me how great sparkbonding is...but...is there anything specific you have to do?" Bumblebee's faceplates heated up a little. "Like, is it possible to...mess up?"

Ratchet chuckled, and settled down next to the youngling on the berth. "No, you don't have to worry. Sparks like to touch each other, but they never do harm. It might feel scary, to expose them, but you don't do it to everybody; just the mech you perfectly trust. The trick is to try to synchronize your spark pulses. When they both tune to the same rhythm, they'll lock in the moment of overload. It might even offline you; it's very intense. But if you can't find the synch, it's still wonderful, so don't blow a processor trying too hard."

Bee smiled, chuckling a little. "If, on the off chance, I wanna try...is there a way to better watch out for the synch so I can pull it off?"

"Not really," the medic shook his head. "It requires a great deal of patience and practice—after all, you want to pay attention to your partner as well. You just listen to your spark, and... _will_ it to pulse faster or slower. It will take quite a few tries. And don't forget, when you bond your sparks, there will be no secrets anymore. You'll know Prime inside and out, his thoughts, his feelings. It's a great responsibility."

The yellow scout stiffened nervously at the prospect, but nodded his head. "I know..." _That's why I'm so slagging nervous about it_ , he thought. _But I'll get to it; one day...I know he'll wait until I'm ready._

A red and white arm curled around the yellow shoulders, and Ratchet pulled the scout closer. "Why can't you be like this all the time...?" he grumbled softly. "Prime's a fortunate glitch to have you."

Bee shot Ratchet a wide grin. "I'll stop being a smart-aft when you stop being grumpy," he teased.

Ratchet lightly slapped Bee on the head. "Don't try me, kid. Still have the EMP generator at hand."

"Oww, hey!" Bee rubbed the back of his head, but it was all in jest. It hadn't really hurt that much; he just liked to get on the medic's nerves a little, even when he was like this, being so nice...it was just who he was. But, that didn't mean Bee wasn't thankful.

Bumblebee glanced up at the mech, and smiled wide, squeezing Ratchet's arm. "Doc...thanks for everything." The scout craned his body up a bit, to place a quick peck on Ratchet's cheek, the way a child kisses their parents.

His head was cupped gently by a red hand though; the strong but careful fingers holding him in place. The old medic turned to the little scout and kissed him properly. The contact lingered, and to Bee's surprise, Ratchet's energy fields felt different from Optimus'. Prime was strong and steady, kind of calm, like smooth armor. Ratchet vibrated a bit, and he was warm; very warm and soothing.

The medic smiled at the youngling when he broke the kiss. "That's how mechs do it. You're a warrior now, and warriors don't just tap the edges."

Bumblebee's optics, wide and bright, flickered on and off, the same way humans might blink. Oh, his faceplates were so hot that they were smoking now, small wisps of steam rising off the metal surface before he willed them to cool again.

The little mech sputtered, caught off guard. He hadn't expected Ratchet to kiss him like that. "I...wh—I...uhhh...ah...o-okay...?"

The medic threw his head back laughing. "You should've seen yourself, kid! Totally frozen!" He grinned at Bee and rubbed the yellow head affectionately. "We should finish those check-ups, now shouldn't we?"

Bumblebee hissed geysers of steam between the seams in his faceplates, leering, huffing. "That was mean, and totally unfair," he complained, saying nothing of the check-ups. "You caught me by surprise...!"

Ratchet looked inappropriately smug. "You still have a lot to learn, despite bein' a warrior."

"Psssh..." Bumblebee's optics narrowed playfully. "How 'bout you c'mere Doc, and I'll give you some learnin'!"

"Not a chance," Ratchet countered, back in his usual, strict mood. "Sit still and don't run your vocalizer."

Some things never changed. But other things did, eventually.


	11. I Wanna Know 01

The big plasma screen was on in the "living room" (as Sari dubbed the area with couches and a floor mat) where the bots spent their time together. Bulkhead was lazing on the floor currently, all alone, watching the program. Commercials, cartoons, more commercials, more cartoons...it was interesting, just... Something was missing. The green giant's vents let out a huff. He was bored...and sort of lonely.

Lately, Bulkhead had been getting that "lonely" feeling quite a lot. When he wasn't on missions with his friends, he spent a lot of his time alone in front of the flat-screen television or entertaining Sari when Bumblebee wasn't around. Speaking of which...the amount of time Sari spent with him instead of Bumblebee had been on a considerable increase; so had Bumblebee's vanishing act. What was that yellow bot doing all the time now? Bulkhead had tried to get a hold of him several times, but most of the time he was nowhere to be found...

Was Bee avoiding them?

Perhaps not, or at least, not every one of them... Bulkhead wasn't as oblivious as the others credited him to be. Sometimes, he spotted Bee sneaking after Optimus; once, he even slipped into the leader's room, not noticing the green mech standing in the shadows. And sometimes, Bee was just...beaming. Not with his usual happiness, but something more...intense. It made Bulkhead wish to step closer and absorb that radiance, like the rays of the Earth's sun. He had no idea what it could be, but it was nice, and he wanted to tell this to his little friend; but Bee just didn't come around to talk like before. 

Back then, they even used to recharge curled up against each other, in the builder barracks. The oldest bots smiled at them, then and got some sort of dreamy look on their faceplates. Bulkhead didn't care about it much; he just liked Bumblebee to be close to him.

For once, it appeared Bulkhead would get his wish today. In the moments following his last thought, a certain yellow bot peeked into the room with a bright smile on his face. "Guess who?" called Bee, eagerly bouncing across the room to join Bulkhead in front of the TV screen. "Whatcha watchin', buddy...?"

"Same stuff as always," Bulkhead grumbled. "Y'know, those cartoons we watched together back then..." Nnn...He didn't mean to be that grumpy, but...Bee was his friend, right...? And friends spent time together. Honestly, Bulkhead was really missing the yellow scout.

"Ooh, you're right! I love this one!" Bumblebee curled his legs up on the couch, cyan optics "glued to the screen", as humans put it. Small blue-white orbs brightened in their centers, guarded behind tinted glass as he watched the cartoons flickering by on the television. A gray tomcat had been pushed from his home, in favor of a small white kitten with wide blue eyes. The mouse was laughing at him.

"I don't think Earth animals can do stuff like this, but it sure is funny," Bumblebee snickered, turning to ask Bulkhead's opinion when he noticed that the large green mech was slumped, optics dim in their centers. His smile faded. "Hey? Bulkhead...? Is something the matter?"

The green giant rose from his sprawled position, sat up, effectively blocking Bee's view on the TV, and with a slight whining tone in his voice, he asked: "What did I do?"

Bumblebee blinked, startled by the question, and divided his attention between looking at Bulkhead and trying to see around him—a naturally impossible task.

"What you're doing is blocking the 'toons, man," Bumblebee pointed out.

"I don't care!" the green giant snapped. "What the Pit is up, Bee? We used to be best friends, and now you don't even say hi! We spent our time together, watching TV and playin' and talkin' and now, we just don't! You even leave Sari with me and just walk off!" He huffed unhappily.

"I can see that you're after the Boss-bot, and I guess I know why, but...you never polished up to the bosses before. ‘It's just ugly,’ you said, and you'd never do it, but now... You're just sweet-talkin' him all the time! And you surely must be angry or something, that's why you don't talk to me anymore; so tell me what I did, 'cause..." he hung his head. "I miss my buddy, and I want to be with you again...! Nobody else ever talks to me, aside Sari...I'm all lonely."

"What the...?" Bee's posture straightened, optics flickering. "No, w-wait a minute, Bulkhead, you've got it all wrong!" The smaller mech stood up on the couch, arms moving in gestures as he tried to explain. "What I'm doing with Prime isn't exactly...well, it's not _really_...that's not 'polishing up'...!" Slag, this was hard to explain. How had Bulkhead found out about that in the first place? Bee had been so careful, had done his best not to broadcast it, just as Ratchet told him to—so what gave him away?

Then again, Prowl was casting him looks and Ratchet had nudged him painfully a few times when he wasn't quite so subtle...maybe it wasn't so difficult to pick up on.

Bulkhead blinked, looking mildly confused. "Then what, huh...? I don't really care, but...it's so flippin' important that you have to neglect your friends for it...? Bee, I really miss you!" He took on what the humans dubbed "puppy dog eyes." "I want to be with you again, like before, just talk and recharge with you and stuff."

The yellow mech's optics flickered again. Guilt set in. Now that he thought about it, he _had_ spent a lot of time away from the others...Bulkhead, especially. Bumblebee sighed, posture slumping. "Bulkhead..."

Man, he'd been acting like a glitch. Bulkhead probably thought Bee didn't like him anymore.

Bumblebee turned his attention up, dropping back down on the couch, vents expelling a puff of warm air. "Look, you're still my best buddy, okay? It's just...some stuff has happened lately..." that wistful smile that Bee got when he was around Prime splashed across his face, turning his mouth up at the corners before it disappeared, clouded behind an apologetic glance.

"I'm really sorry, buddy." Bumblebee patted the space next to him. "C'mere, I think I owe you an explanation; and it's gonna be a long one."

The green mech carefully settled down next to his friend and waited. Mmm, Bee was radiating warmth again. It was nice, even from this far. And, Bulkhead was glad it was not his fault. He was often at fault, and he didn't like it...guilt was a bad feeling.

Once Bulkhead was next to him, Bumblebee reached over and took the TV remote out of the mech's massive gunmetal hands, switching the cartoons off and putting it aside. He didn't want any distractions for this.

"So, listen..." Bumblebee paused, optics squinting as he tried to find the right words, turning to face Bulkhead on the couch. "What I've been doing with Optimus isn't 'polishing up;' it's nothing like that, I promise. It's...different. Um..." He fiddled nervously with one of his horns, rubbing the small nub between two yellow fingers. "Well, you know how, on this planet, the humans are sometimes walking around in pairs, and they call each other 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend'?"—the smile was back, his energy warmed—"That's kind of what it is."

Bulkhead's jaw dropped. Yes, he had heard about that. Sari told him about love and how people were dating and marrying and the like. He could easily catch up on the concept, since he loved a lot of things, and he could imagine how it could be to love something above anything else. 

"You...like Optimus that much...?" That was new. Bulkhead always thought if you love somebody, you wouldn't cause him a processor-ache; not like Bee did to Prime. It was weird.

"Uh-huh." Bumblebee nodded, smile widening. "And he likes me back. So that's why I've been spending so much time with him."

"Ah...okay." Bulkhead blinked, curiosity written all over his faceplates. "But what are you doing together, huh...? The same as the human couples...?" He was in the dark with that part of such relationships. And when he was watching humans, the boyfriends and girlfriends were usually holding hands and walking and sometimes they were pushing their faces together, and Sari called that 'kissing'. So the Boss-bot and Bee were...wow.

"Umm," Bumblebee chuckled nervously, crossing his legs on the couch. "Well, yeah, pretty much the same as human couples. When both of us are out patrolling, he sometimes lets me sit on his shoulders, and we've kissed a few times...okay, a _lot_ of times."

Bee paused, fiddling with one of his horns, tilting his head into the touch. How much was he allowed to give away, he wondered? Ratchet was practically forcing him by sheer fright tactics to keep the more serious part of it under wraps, but...Ratchet knew, Optimus knew, he knew--he was pretty sure Prowl was in on it, as well...and it just wouldn't be fair to leave Bulkhead out of the circle, now, would it?

Bee's posture straightened; he turned around on the couch to peer behind him, checking outside the door and all around the room, doing a general signals check within the area. Thankfully, as expected, no one was around—and Ratchet wasn't likely to leave that lab of his anytime soon.

The yellow mech scooted closer to Bulkhead and dropped his voice a few notches, nevertheless. "And there's one more thing..."

The green giant sensed that it was something very serious and important—like a secret. He practically curled around his little friend, to get his audios closer to Bee's vocalizer. "Yeah...?" He was heating up in the inside, funny...

"Do you remember that one time we were fooling around in the data files with Optimus about the Great War, and it mentioned something about bonded sparks?" Bumblebee, optics fixed on Bulkhead's, murmured, "It's where you bare your spark to another mech, and they do the same thing, and the two of you merge sparks. It's supposed to be something two bots do when they really love each other."

Bulkhead's optics widened to their limits. "B-b-but... The sparks are what we are... Isn't that dangerous?" He couldn't help it; he lightly tapped at Bee's chestplate. He was worried! What if something happened and he or Optimus...offlined... Like, forever? "Bee, I don't know...promise you'll be careful...!"

"I haven't done anything like that yet!" Bee assured him, putting a hand over his chestplate when Bulkhead tapped it (nudging him a bit in the process—Bulkhead's version of 'lightly' was still somewhat off from Bee's). "But Ratchet told me about all this stuff. And if Doc says it's perfectly safe...not only that, he also said it feels _really good_."

The little scout's metallic lips pulled up at the corners in a light smile, faceplates heating up. "So we haven't bonded yet, but, I'm thinking about asking him soon. Besides, we've already overloaded each other a couple of times—if it's supposed to be any better than that," Bumblebee's smile widened into a grin, "Then I think Optimus will have to be more worried about making it _too_ good."

"Now...okay, wait, I think I'm totally lost..." Bulkhead rubbed his massive neck and stared at the scout with a puzzled look. "Okay, you like the Boss-bot, and the Boss-bot likes you, and you wanna...bond...your sparks, because it's supposed to feel good. But...what's an 'overload'...?"

Hearing the question made Bumblebee giggle, now. He felt a little more grown-up, to be able to explain an overload to his best friend. "It's where a bot is physically stimulated until their systems fry out—" Bulkhead's optics shot wide open, and Bumblebee lifted his hands frantically. "No, no! I know it sounds painful, but trust me, it's _great_. I guess, doing it too much might make it hurt," he quirked his head, one optic narrowed curiously, "I'm not sure—didn't ask the Doc about that. But it hasn't been terrible for me or Optimus once yet."

Bulkhead was still staring at him like a madmech; probably, Bee guessed, he still didn't like the sound of his systems getting fried. The yellow bot glanced up at his friend, seeing the worry in his face, and sighed. One more quick peek behind him; he stood, clambering up Bulkhead's arm to make himself comfortable on the green giant's colossal shoulders.

"I tell you what, buddy," Bee said with a smirk, "How about we go back to your room, and I'll show you? This is the kinda stuff that's easier to explain with a little hands-on experience."

"Well...I-I don't know..." The green mech hesitated a bit, but Bee's smile always was something he had no real chance withstanding. "Okay. If you say it won't hurt..." Why were things so difficult...? Bulkhead headed off toward his own room, feeling slightly uneasy. What the scout said sounded nasty, but it was the lesser bad... Somewhere deep in his spark, something was twisting. Bulkhead was happy that Bee was happy, and Optimus was a great mech; he was surely a good...umm, boyfriend, but...He was the most important thing for Bee now. Not Sari. 

And not Bulkhead...not anymore...


	12. I Wanna Know 02

While they were walking, Bumblebee rested his head on top of his partners, legs slung over Bulkhead's chest and crossed at the ankles.

Bee looked down at his companion. "I can tell you're upset, and I don't think it's just because I haven't spent a lot of time with you..." _Which I will make a note to stop doing from here on out_ , thought Bee to himself. He really had been unfair to the giant, considering they'd been friends practically since their sparks were conceived. Maybe not _literally_ , but it sure felt like it.

"Ah, umm...it's nothing." The massive mech didn't want to make his friend feel guilty. He knew it was a bad feeling.

He closed the thick door behind them, and gently pulled Bee into his arms from his shoulder. He was so small compared to Bulkhead's hulking frame...he seemed so fragile, and yet, he was a tough little bot, eager and brave. "I don't want to lose you."

Those massive metal hands picked him up and held him, and Bumblebee still, after all these years, found himself stunned at the gentility of the mech's hold. Any time other than now, Bee would have been certain that Bulkhead had a high probability of breaking something without meaning to, because the mech tended to forget his own strength in comparison to this fragile human world around them—but not around Bumblebee. The two had spent countless nights in recharge together, hours, days, _years_ in each other's company. No matter how unintentionally clumsy the green giant was, every single time, when he was with Bumblebee, the smaller mech could trust he would not get crushed to scrap. Rarely did the rest of the team get a glance at that side of Bulkhead, and it made Bumblebee feel somewhat special to be able to hold claim to that.

"You're not going to lose me, Bulkhead."

The giant's faceplates practically flared up—he didn't mean to say that out loud. He slowly sank to his knees, cradling Bee tighter to himself, to feel him again. "It's just...you and Boss-bot, and...I'm happy, really, just..." his voice broke with a sparkling click. "N-never mind...it's okay, I know you're not gonna forget me." He forced a smile. "So...you wanted to show me things, didn't you...?"

Bee's frown only deepened at his friend's distress—he wanted to say more on the subject, but...maybe it was best to wait.

"Um...yeah," Bee squirmed nervously a little. "Maybe we could do this on the berth? It'll be more comfortable."

The green mech nodded, and carried his friend to the berth. It was a massive concrete slab in the corner—Primus knows what it was before—padded with some plastic sheets and covered with a faded yellow canvas, probably the tarp of some truck. Bulkhead settled down and cautiously let Bee sit as well. "Okay, berth. Now, what...?"

"Hmm..." Bumblebee pressed a hand into his lap, working through everything he knew about Bulkhead to try and discern a good starting point. Every mech had weak points, Bulkhead included—rather hard to believe at times, but true nonetheless.

An epiphany came in the recollection of a game the two of them used to play when there was no work to do. It was, essentially, a form of the humans' "tag" game: the two of them would run about the complex (usually at the cost of incurring Ratchet's wrath), hiding from one another and trying to find each other, and the first person to get zapped three times won the match. Bumblebee discovered, during one session, that he could take care of two tags in one fell swoop by getting Bulkhead on the back of his neck, as the giant mech was often too stunned by the first hit to react in time.

Smiling, Bumblebee stood up so he was level with Bulkhead, leaning against the big bot's chest. "I'll start. Just trust me, okay, pal?"

One hand moved up over Bulkhead's thick green armor, feeling the seams marking where his neck jutted out, once it came to there. Bee reached around, resting his head on Bulkhead's chest and looking up, watching attentively for any change in expression. His fingers pressed against that pressure point, silver metal giving ever slightly under the touch; enough to feel, but not be painful.

"How's that?" asked Bumblebee, his tone hushed.

Bulkhead twitched violently—he was not expecting this. But he calmed down quickly, and leaned forward, trying to sit still. "I-it's okay...sorry..." He lowered his head a bit, exposing his neck more. "It felt weird...but kind of nice. Warm..." His core temperature was crawling up steadily. "I trust you," he whispered. "Do that again...?"

The jump startled him as much as he must have startled Bulkhead; but the progress made Bee warm up a little inside. Not a bad start.

Bumblebee pressed against the spot again, this time rubbing his fingers in circles on it, wondering if that would make any difference. He wanted to show Bulkhead how pleasant this could be, so scaring him again was not an option.

"Nnnh...haa...B-Bee..." Very soon, Bulkhead was practically whimpering from pleasure, leaning into the touch more and more, optics going offline. "T-that's so good, ooohh, makes my head feel all light and my spark is...it just feels good..." Really, he looked as if he was about to melt into a happy puddle. "B-but my systems givin' me warnings...is that okay...?"

Bumblebee shivered, feeling the energies Bulkhead's spark was giving off—wild, curious pulses, fluttering nervously while the yellow mech nodded his head, and mingled his energy with Bulkhead's a little—just enough to calm those frantic thumping waves. "Yeah, the warnings are natural. My system does it, too; I just turn them off so they don't distract me."

"T-turn them off..." Bulkhead found it very hard to pay proper attention, but the warnings were distracting... He curled his fingers into a tight fist to concentrate better, and reached into his own programming, to find the right switch and turn it off. His vent let out a loud, satisfied hiss as he succeeded, and he promptly leaned back into the touch, like a kitten. "Soooo nice..." he moaned happily. "You were right...mmm...a-and you and Optimus...too?"

"Uh-huh. We've done this to each other a few times." Bumblebee smiled, continuing to rub the spot in vertical strokes and circles, the other one on Bulkhead's chest moving in idle caresses. It made him happy to see Bulkhead happy—Bee was glad that he was able to share this with his friend.

"If you want, you can try to do it back to me. I like it when my horns are touched, and the backs of my leg joints..."

The green giant nodded a bit, and he reached out, curling one arm around Bumblebee, sort of to back him up, while a wide finger on his other hand carefully brushed against the back of the scout's knee. "Like this...?" Bulkhead had to fight with the urge to simply crush his friend against him, to absorb his heat. Both of their energy fields were spiking, and the massive young mech moaned again, surprisingly softly for being so huge. His entire neuro-grid was on fire, it was scary, but so good, too...better than anything else.

Bee's optics widened and he all but collapsed against Bulkhead's frame, feet slipping on the tarp as one of Bulkhead's massive fingers fit against the joint in question. He let out a keening moan, a whimper, shuddering, his hand slipping from its place on Bulkhead's neck, finding ground again on the protruding hinge of his jaw. "Oooh! Yeah...just like that...!"

Optimus had touched him in that spot many times, and it wasn't that it felt better here as much as different. Prime's hands and fingers were closer to Bee's size and build, and could pinpoint certain spots while leaving others alone, driving Bee mad to the point of overload. With Bulkhead, there was full coverage of his hot spot, coupled with firmer pressure that came naturally with Bulkhead's size, and it made him literally go weak in the knees.

The green giant cried out as his jaw was touched—another absolutely weak spot obviously, because it sent a jolt of pleasure through his entire frame. His intakes were desperately sucking the air in, while his vents spat steam, and he leaned above Bumblebee, rubbing his jaw against him, and keeping up the caresses on the delicate knee. "Bee, its...so w-weird but good, aah, so...wonderful..! It's...getting better, Oh...please, more, please, please...!" He was not ashamed to beg. Actually, he was usually a very nice mech, and asking for something politely never was an issue. But now, he was begging, and he would have done even more for another second of this brand new bliss, which was threatening to swallow him up in a whole.

Bumblebee responded with a more purposeful press against the junction of the larger mech's jaw, fingering the thick screw that locked it in place and every edge and curve he could find. All the while, his core temperature rose and his energy spiked in pulsing waves; he shivered against Bulkhead and it was all he could do not to melt in a puddle on the berth right there, with the wide finger stroking the crook of his knee. His armor began to physically warm as his vents thrummed, moaning under the hisses and groans of Bulkhead's systems, fighting in vain against the heat building up in his body. Bumblebee managed, somehow, to pull himself back into a relative standing position, although his legs trembled with the effort, his free hand wrapping around to brush against the soft spot on Bulkhead's neck while he continued to stimulate the giant's jaw.

"Nnnh...B-Bulkhead...oooh...!"

The massive young mech was shivering and practically mewling; it would have been funny at any other time, but not now, not in these moments of white-hot sensation, these exquisitely agonizing seconds. The air trembled around the green frame, and Bulkhead went rigid, his optics sizzling offline, his vocalizer emitting a single, loud moan...the tell-tale blue lightning arched over his armor, and the giant simply couldn't move—just as his friend promised, everything fried inside. Servos, programs, processors...the world ceased to exist for a single moment, and Bulkhead's spark danced and sung from joy inside his mighty chest.

Soon enough, Bumblebee arched forward, gravitated in part by the pull of energy radiating from Bulkhead's spark and because his knees finally gave out from under him and he sank against his partner's larger, stronger frame, moaning in absolute bliss as every circuit, board and program in him burnt hot until shorting out, crackling and sending a pleasant tingling wave of pleasure through his systems. Words failed him after that—in the wake of an overload, they usually did.

A minute passed, then another, and Bulkhead only shifted so much as to curl around Bumblebee. His vents were still expelling excess heat, but he was calming down. He felt completely sated, processors swimming in a pleasant daze.

"Was...that an overload...?" He inquired quietly, blinking at his friend sleepily.

Bumblebee bobbed his head in a soundless nod, systems thrumming still as they worked towards a state of calm again. He curled up against his larger friend, becoming a compact yellow ball in his lap, still warm in the following glow of pleasure.

"Thanks for showing..." Bulkhead's voice was just as warm, and filled with gratitude. "Is it always this exhausting...? I just wanna go into recharge..."

Bumblebee chuckled weakly. "I'm like that lots of times, too," he murmured. "But most times, Optimus isn't. I think it...depends on the bot." He stretched his legs out a bit before pulling them in again, nuzzling against Bulkhead's frame.

"Hey, Bulkhead...I'm sorry I've been ignoring you. I guess I got so wrapped up in this new feeling, I completely forgot about everything else." The yellow mech looked up with apologetic optics. "Please don't think that means I don't like you, okay, buddy? And I don't like you any less, either. You're still my best friend; you always will be. It's just that what I have with Optimus...it's a little different than this. That's all it is."

"So... he won't be angry with us? That you gave me an overload...?" The green giant could imagine that one wanted to keep his partner and this wonderful sensation to himself, and Optimus, being Bee's 'boyfriend', obviously had first dibs. "I'm glad, though—I like you, Bee, you know that. I like you much."

Bumblebee smiled, patting Bulkhead's stomach. "I like you, too, Bulkhead," he purred. "And, no...I don't think Optimus will be mad at me. If Doc finds out, I can handle that, so it's no problem. Bee dimmed his optics, nodding in satisfaction. There was one time some days ago where he had sensed something different about Optimus...just the way that he gave off his energy and how he behaved. Bumblebee guessed that he might have done a similar thing to what Bee had just done.

"Okay..." Bulkhead murmured, and then shifted into a more comfortable position. "Recharge...? I know I will. Stay a bit?" His dimming optics were pleading to the scout. "Like before?"

"Sure. Love to." Bee lay against Bulkhead as the mech settled out on his side. "But promise not to crush me!" He said, teasing and snickering as he pet Bulkhead's armor again—he knew the larger bot would never do anything like that, especially in recharge.

"Bit-brain," Bulkhead grumbled affectionately, then finally gave up, and let himself fall into a deep, calm recharge cycle.


	13. Tangled Webs 01

The blue moonlight mingled with the artificial white glow of the city. The balcony was empty, save for one lone female 'bot. It was sort of the same every time; it was their hideout, where they came together to talk and dream. Optimus pushed the door leading out to the small outcropping open and walked to the railing. He gazed down at the beautiful town and sighed. "It's never the same without Sentinel. I hope he's doing fine on that mission." 

"Sentinel's an overgrown sparkling sometimes, but he's a good soldier. I'm sure he'll be fine without us this once, Optimus." 

"I'm not saying he needs us to watch over him...!" The young soldier protested, a little bit embarrassed. "It's just...I worry. There could be unseen dangers. I want him to come back in one piece." 

"You worry way too much, Optimus," laughed Elita. As Optimus took up a place next to her on the balcony, she sidled slightly closer, putting a companionable hand on his arm. "Learn to relax a little. Sentinel will be just fine." 

Optimus' vents huffed. "I think...you're right. I apparently worry too much." He smiled at his brightly colored friend, and covered the hand resting on his arm with his larger blue one. "You're always right, Elita. You're our reason, and I've always admired you for that." 

Elita-1 grinned, a hint of shyness dashing her expression. She took the hand that had moved over her own and squeezed it. "You know, you're pretty level-headed, too..." she quirked an optic ridge, "I think if you were less tightly-wired and Sentinel lost a little of his impulse, we'd be in top shape."

"It's all so true." The red warrior turned fully toward the slender one and looked into her optics. "But can a Bot's programming change? I'm afraid, without an outside force of influence, we're lost cases, Sentinel and I." 

"I don't think you need too much of an outside force, Optimus," Elita-1 replied, standing on the fronts of her feet a bit to look up at her long-time friend. "A little push might do the trick for you. Sentinel, though, we’ve both seen how stubborn _he_ can be."

Elita-1 tilted her head sideways a bit at Optimus, rather coyly, city-white lights of Iacon glinting off her yellow armor like starlight. "Who knows? Maybe a Bot's programming can change. Like my download power, maybe; except a little more permanent." 

Optimus leaned closer as well. Their faces were mere inches away now. "This...is sort of forbidden, now, isn't it?" He could feel his inside temperature rising. His energy levels were crawling up, and his spark was...acting strangely. But it was not a bad feeling, not at all. 

There was a wink of mischief as Elita-1 smiled wide in response. "Afraid of a little danger, Prime...?" 

"With you by my side..." Optimus smiled, and he curled his arms around that beautifully crafted, fragile-looking but still so strong frame. "I'm not even afraid of a whole Decepticon army." With that, he closed the gap between their lips, and a shiver ran through him as their energy fields clashed. The taste was sweet and soft, warm and inviting—it made him crave more. 

She purred at him in response, optics dimming while she lifted herself on toe-point. Slender yellow-guarded arms reached up to wind around Optimus' neck, pulling him closer; a pair of slighter fingers stroked the tips of his audios.

Elita-1 held Optimus and Optimus held her; there was no immediate need to split apart, and in fact, a warm fluttering sensation in her sleek chassis pleaded softly for more. They parted from the kiss, and Elita blinked up at Prime with a light hum, smiling dreamily and rubbing Prime's chest. "Feels like something we've been missing..." 

"I think we just found it," Prime responded quietly, tightening his hold a little bit. "In the forbidden, laced with danger, surrounded by uncertainty...but it never felt so good before. It's like the finest high-grade. You made me drunk, Elita... And I never want to come to myself." 

Elita-1 giggled. "You're so sweet, Optimus," she commented, feeling flattered.

Her bright blue optics were pulled upward as something flashed overhead. Gasping in awe, Elita-1 pointed. "Look, up there!"

Prime directed his optics where Elita had glued her own. A shower of white streaks covered the sky, a blanket of tiny starlet comets blending with the blue-white glow of Iacon below them, bleaching their whole world into a blank slate...a world where things could begin anew.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Truly amazing..." Prime gazed at the light. It was like an omen, something the ancient mechs used to believe in - a good omen, bringer of good luck, signal of something new. Maybe...no, perhaps... No. This thing will last. Optimus offlined his optics, almost soaking up the light, his inside filled with brightness and hope. Cybertron was still weak after the long war... But, they will make the difference; with their efforts, their strength, friendship...and love. 

Elita-1 sighed again. "We don't get many comet showers like that out here," she murmured. Optimus could feel her frame shifting to lean solidly against him. Her tone saddened. "Shame we won't get to see another one like it."

The comets just seemed to keep coming as Optimus turned his optics on again, turning them down quickly to avoid the blinding light of the stellar shower above them. Why all of a sudden did the heavenly wash seem so cutting?

His attentions were on the slender 'bot pressed against him, but quickly he realized that the four blood-red eyes glaring hatefully up at him were not the optics of his Elita-1.

Her yellow frame melted away from him before his eyes, replaced by harsh gold, suffocating black and stained violet. Stingers leapt from the backs of her shoulders. 

With a terrified cry, Optimus leapt back, optics wide and processors reeling. "What? E-Elita...?! What's going on??" The confusion was numbing him; all he could do was slowly back away from that pretty but fearful and threatening creature. "Y-You're not her...!"

"You're right, Optimus; I'm not."

Blackarachnia hissed at him, fangs gleaming in the violent starlight. She was screaming. She sounded pained. "But I _was_!"

His reality reeled. Optimus trembled as the slight Decepticon lunged at him. Everything merged in a harsh splatter of colors, breaking down into pixels and lines of code, ones and zeroes dashing past him in 3D columns. Blackarachnia's screams rang under his own in his audios; it was that sensory hallucination that shocked him out of recharge. 

He bolted up on his berth with a panicked howl and then just sat there trembling, vents shrieking until he got sure he was back at the old factory, in his own room. The already familiar gray of the walls, the soft shadows—Earth shadows were different from Cybertron's—the quiet humming of the city curled around him comfortably, like warm, soothing mist. 

"A dream..." Optimus murmured. "Just a bad dream..." He pulled his knees up and embraced them, lowering his forehead on his arms. He could still feel Elita's touch... "Oh Primus, why...?" 

***

Daylight didn't ease away the tension of his uneasy recharge. Optimus tried hard to focus, but all day, he was quiet and detached. He declined Prowl's inquiries into a sparring match, and Bumblebee's usual eager chattering only made his processors ache. It seemed like nothing could brighten his mood. He was still trapped far away, on Iacon, dreaming of a sweet yellow female 'bot that’d had her arms wrapped around him, kissing him and praising him.

Eventually, Optimus found himself amidst some idle work on data files, a very suspicious and—most importantly—worried Bumblebee sitting on his shoulders as he worked—Prowl had taken Bulkhead out on patrol, and Sari was still in school, so Bee naturally gravitated to the group's designated "Boss Bot".

"Hey, Optimus...are you feeling alright?" Bumblebee wrapped his arms and legs a little more tightly around the mech's shoulders. "You've been kind of out of it all day. Got a bug in your circuits or something?" 

"I'm fine," Prime droned, but a moment after, he forced himself to actually pay attention. It was not fair, to ignore the little scout. It wasn’t Prime’s fault that he felt like crawling into a hole to cease function. "I, uh...there's a lot on my mind, Bumblebee. Could you please get off of my shoulders...? You're...cutting off my air intakes." 

"You weren't minding it earlier," protested Bee. Nevertheless, he obeyed Prime's request and worked himself off the 'bot's shoulders. "You sure you're alright...? I've never seen you this tense." Bumblebee frowned, casting him a sideways look. "And you can get _really_ tense." 

The young leader considered just breaking down and act like a scared sparkling but he dismissed the option—he was a leader, after all. He hung his head and stared at his hands. "That battle with...the spider Decepticon is still affecting me, I have to admit. Right now, I feel as if it would be only getting worse; first Lockdown and now her...I had a taxing nightmare, and it's stuck in my memory core...it makes me feel numb and cold." Actually, talking about it seemed to help a little bit. He glanced at his young mate, suddenly craving his warmth, his vibrant presence. Maybe it'll wash that other touch away... 

"Oh, it’s about her, huh?" Bumblebee's frown deepened a little as he edged himself closer to his mate, sidling up to him and hugging his arm. "I don't blame you. She scared me, too." The little scout began to work his fingers soothingly against Prime's armor, searching for crevices in the working to try and massage some of the tension away. He had picked up on doing so whenever he felt Optimus had to stop being such a worry-mech.

"What was the nightmare about...?" 

"It was about her," Optimus whispered, and pulled Bee closer, into a tight embrace. "I...used to know her, back then. We were friends. And it's me who made her to what she is now, it's all my fault...I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself, ever. I should have...Sentinel was right. We should have gone back and looked." He buried his face into the smaller mech's shoulder and let out a few quiet clicks of despair. 

"Hey, hey," hushed Bumblebee, a deeper worry striking his optics. He petted Prime's helm when the larger mech leaned against him, stroking his audios lightly to try and comfort him. "How could it be your fault? You wouldn't hurt a petro-rabbit, Prime."

Bumblebee backtracked though, and now narrowed his gaze a bit. "You mean she wasn't always like this...?" 

"No," the silent answer came, and the larger mech pushed his head into the stroking hands. "She was an Autobot, like us. She and Sentinel Prime were my best friends. Long story cut short, we went on a mission, she got into trouble, I thought she died, and we left. She turned into this half organic creature to survive. And she was right, she will be treated as a freak at home...I can't blame her for allying with the Decepticons." 

Bumblebee listened quietly, never refusing Prime the comfort he sought as he explained.

Blackarachnia was...an Autobot...and Prime's friend?

"I'm sure it wasn't your fault," Bumblebee murmured, soothing his mate. "You can't blame yourself, Optimus. She made the decision to be a Decepticon, not you. There was no way you could have known..." 

"But maybe if I looked, if only I went back instead of just taking the scanner readings as evidence...!" Optimus sighed. "You're right. I should stop dwelling on it; it won't change the past. But in that dream, she was so real, she was so close...and then she changed into her current form." 

The yellow scout managed a weak smile. "You really liked her, huh...?" 

Prime nodded weakly." She was...special...a wonderful comrade and a beautiful example of her kind. She was funny and smart, strong and kind...I think if I knew back then what bonding was...if she accepted, she'd have been my mate." 

Something in Bumblebee's systems backtracked and experienced a hard crash.

Blinking, the smaller mech's comforts suddenly grew less personal. "I see," he hummed.

Bumblebee turned the information over in his mind, leaning on Prime as Prime leaned on him. Small yellow hands worked out the kinks in his leader's neck joints. _Back then, if she'd accepted_... if she'd accepted...? Bee didn't entertain the thought very well. His systems went sour. He tried to imagine Blackarachnia before she had become a Decepticon--an obviously impossible task, as he hadn't known her. Thus the yellow scout could only conjure images of a gold, black and purple female, hissing at him with sharp fangs and deadly glowing stingers.

_"But what about now...?"_

Prime drew back from him then, staring him in the optics, and Bumblebee blinked innocently until he realized he'd actually spoken aloud. 

"What about now?" Optimus questioned, but somehow, he was not inquiring. "Now is now. The past cannot be changed, and I have you all to care for. I won't let these personal issues influence me, no matter how hard it will be." He smiled. "Thank you, Bumblebee. I already feel a lot better." He leaned closer to smooch the gray cheekplates. 

Bumblebee had an unsatisfied pout on his face, but tried to smile. That hadn't been what he'd meant...but he didn't push the matter. "Hey, it's what I'm here for, right?" 

The young leader chuckled a bit and gently caressed the yellow head. "You can go now, I'll be alright. I'll finish these files, and then I'll be free for a good while. Be ready for the evening patrol, okay?"

"I'm _always_ ready." Bee split a wide grin, adding, "Ready for action, that is!" 

But with that, things were long not settled.


	14. Tangled Webs 02

In the upcoming days, Optimus remained somewhat detached; just a little bit, really; but there was something in his polite excuses to brush off Sari, or the way he was staring at the stars at nights, which was quite off. Even his touch, his embrace turned...colder. He still let Bee steal kisses in the shadows, he smiled and he didn't throw him out of the room when the scout sneaked in to recharge with his lover, but something was missing...a certain spark which glowed brightly before.

The part about all of this business that bothered a certain yellow mech was that he was afraid to admit he might know the reason for Optimus' sudden change in demeanor.

Bumblebee said nothing when Prime continued to be so intimate yet so much a stranger; he didn't complain when the mech spent his orns buried in work and admiring the constellations in the sky. And when Optimus would startle him out of recharge in the middle of the night, optics wide from a nightmare, Bumblebee hushed him and encouraged him with soothing words and loving caresses to go back into recharge...all the while fooling himself into denying the monstrous, irrational jealousy that ate at his inner circuits at the cause of Prime's behavior.

It happened, one day that Bumblebee finally couldn't stand it. He let Prime to his work and his daydreaming—civilly, Bee spoke on good terms with him, but suddenly he was less inclined to steal those kisses he loved so much and began to share berths with Bulkhead more than Prime, on the nights when he felt a compelling need for company.

Of course, the rest of the team noticed. It was hard not to. But, Prowl thought, he couldn't do much, and Ratchet planned on letting it go on for a while longer—some things tended to solve themselves in time.

Eventually, it was Bulkhead who brought up the issue, when they were curled up together on his berth. The air turned a bit cold, and the bigger mech curled around Bumblebee protectively, cradling him close with a massive arm. 

"So, little buddy...did you, ummm...break up with boss bot...?" 

"No," sighed Bumblebee, the sound more effortful than it should have been as he cuddled against Bulkhead's larger green frame. An ambiguous frustration crossed his face. "At least, I don't think I have." 

"But why are you avoiding each other then?" Bulkhead went on. "I like that you're spending more time with me and Sari, and all, but..." A large finger rubbed gently against the yellow youngling's head. "You seem kinda sad. I mean, you don't look sad, but I...I just feel it. In my spark; you're not happy." 

As he nuzzled into the large flat digit against his helm, Bumblebee's faceplates swelled in a pout. "It...It's nothing," he claimed. A tug panged his spark, betraying his own lie. It started him on rambling. "Nothing at all...just silly little me, being irrational...it shouldn't even bother me." 

Bulkhead blinked. "Bee...? You were just calling yourself silly—and _little_. Okay, what's this all about?" His tone grew softer though, with the next sentence. "I'd like to help, if I can. Humans always say talking about things make you feel better." 

Bumblebee grumbled something incoherent before falling silent, only nestling closer to his long-time friend—as if it would somehow lift his troubles, or protect him from thinking about them. The quiet persisted; Bumblebee didn't look up to meet Bulkhead's gaze, but he knew the larger mech was watching him, waiting patiently until he would finally answer.

At last, the yellow scout puffed another sigh, vents whirring. "Long story short...you remember that female bot we ran into a while ago...?" 

"Do I." The huge green mech shivered. "My processors were aching for the next day from her attack! She was somehow...easy on the optics, though." 

Bee's engine revved in protest at Bulkhead's last comment and his voice turned cold. "Apparently, she used to be an Autobot on Cybertron, and Prime had a thing for her." 

"Whoa!" Bulkhead cringed. "That red-eyed black and purple thing with the tentacles, an Autobot...? How on Cybertron—no, never mind, I don't want to know. So she and Optimus..." Now, those confusing soap operas on TV seemed to pay off. "So...Optimus is now thinking about her? And you're jealous." 

The yellow mech's faceplates swelled again. "I'm not jealous!" he denied, adding vehemently, "I just wish he would...she's obviously not...!" Bumblebee squirmed restlessly in Bulkhead's arms. "She's not the _same_. She's a Decepticon now, she assaulted us, and nearly terminated every living thing in Detroit--how can he still give her any thought?!" 

"They were friends," Bulkhead pondered. "You don't stop thinking about friends, even if they're far gone, do you? But, boss bot loves you. Back then, you said you wanted to do that sparkbonding thing with him one day. Why don't you just ask him or something? Make him face it, that you're hurt?" 

Ache fluttered through him again and Bumblebee curled up against Bulkhead. He spat bitterly through his vocals. "Why bother when he would rather bond with _her_?" 

"Come on, little buddy, so you'll just give up on him?" The green mech shifted into a sitting position and pulled his friend with. "That's stupid! She's not here, she can't compete with you!" 

"And that's why I'm so mad!" Bumblebee growled, sputtering now. "All of a sudden she comes back, and it's like I'm not even there! None of us are, to him!"

Vents spitting steam, Bumblebee clenched against Bulkhead, glaring at the colossal mech's stomach because he didn't want to meet his eyes. His optics flickered and dimmed and he drew back, faceplates tightened in a grim expression.

And then he sighed, letting his forehead fall against Bulkhead's green armor with an echoing _clunk_. "I just want him to see that there are more important things than what happened 'back then'." 

"You should talk to him, really." Again, a large but careful finger ran along the scout's back plating, rubbing it gently. "If you just sit here and sulk, Prime will never wake up; and... What if she'll be back? Maybe he'll just let himself be terminated 'cause he kinda...made himself believe he's in love with her and not you, or something." 

But that was just it. Prime wasn't 'making himself believe'—he _had_ loved her, and he still _did_. Bumblebee couldn't explain how he knew; it wasn't just the way Prime was behaving; he just understood it somehow. Up to this point, it had only served to add fuel to the proverbial fire.

Bumblebee hummed tiredly, stretching against his friend's large green self. "Maybe tomorrow..." 

"Yeah..." Bulkhead lay back, curling around the smaller yellow frame again. "Bee... Are you very tired...?" 

The yellow scout frowned curiously. "And what brings this around?" 

"Ummm..." Bulkhead shifted. "I just thought, if you're not just about to fall offline, then, you could, you know, sorta mess with my neck a little bit...?" 

Bumblebee's expression twisted a bit. He revved his engine on a low note, curling against Bulkhead and patting him with a sigh. "Nah, Bulkster. I'm sorry, I just...I'm not _tired_ , really, but...I feel...off. Like something's been messin' with my fuel tank, y'know...?" 

"Ah. Okay, it's fine." Well, actually not, he really was looking forward to it. But Bulkhead loved his small friend, and it was not that hard to put Bee’s wishes before his own. "Recharge then; we'll see what happens tomorrow." He smiled. "Goodnight." 

Bee smiled lightly and curled against Bulkhead, who currently generated enough heat to be a giant electric blanket. "'Night, old buddy..."

***

Things changed little the day following. Optimus was still behaving strangely, and Bee still had yet to approach him. A few times he tried to start, but something always squashed his courage. It wasn't until nightfall, when the yellow mech found Optimus on the roof of the base--watching the stars, as lately he was wont to do--that he got on the ball with it and didn't draw back.

"Hey, Optimus...?" Bumblebee strode up behind his lover, slinging his arms around Prime's shoulders while standing on his toes, as this was accomplishable with the way the mech was sitting. "What're you looking at?" 

"Just the stars," Optimus replied, running his hand along the yellow arms latching around him. "I was thinking about our home, and Earth and decisions... which were made and which are to be made." 

Bumblebee's fuel tank churned, but he forced it to settle, nuzzling against Optimus in a needy manner. "What kind of decisions?" 

"Old ones, because I can't seem to get rid of them..." the young Prime replied with a bitter smile, "I keep thinking about my Academy days, and the day we brought the Allspark here. I'm trying to figure out how Eli—I mean, Blackarachnia—got here; and whether it means that other Decepticons could linger in this sector. It is possible that we'll be attacked again." 

"Hmm," The yellow scout squeezed his arms a little tighter around Prime's neck and chest, resting his head so he was speaking just next to the mech's audios. "If we're attacked again, we'll just have to deal with them," he said. "A Decepticon is a Decepticon." 

"Yes, but we have to think about the Allspark and Earth, too. They will blast through everything to get to their goal, and we're residing in the _middle of a crowded city_." Prime squinted up at Bee. "Are you catching my drift?" 

Bee leered curiously at Optimus. "What are you saying...?"

And then it dawned on him; he drew back a bit, reeling. "Would we have to _leave_?" 

"If there will be more Decepticons, I'm afraid, we have," Optimus nodded. "We can't endanger the humans. This is not their war, and I'm not about to be the one, who unleashes more giant mechanoids trying to kill each other on them." 

Bee's train of thought tanked from there. "But...Sari...!" Of course, Sari would grow up, but she would take it quite hard—and Bumblebee had honestly grown rather attached to the little girl, despite her tendencies to sport a certain stubbornness. Not only that, but he _liked_ this planet—he liked Earth, and he liked the humans. He liked Detroit. He liked being here and he liked protecting them. There were so many things he liked! Bee would hate to just pack up and leave it all behind. 

"This is going to be hard on all of us," Optimus went on, "But there's a chance that we won't have to do it. Besides, the Ark won't fix itself. Let's just keep praying to Primus that no other Decepticons will find us. It's a worst case scenario." He looked up at the scout. "I'd like you to not tell Sari—no need to upset her." 

Bumblebee was pouting, but nodded in agreement. He would hate to break the news to Sari; and if there was a chance they were staying at any rate, he could keep it quiet and count on that one small hope that they wouldn't have to leave.

He sighed, nestling against Prime again. "Guess it's good to know you're actually thinking about us," he mumbled. 

"Of course I do," Optimus nodded with a smile. "You are all dear to me...especially you, my little Bee. I think I've been quite distant in the last days...I'm sorry."

Even with Optimus' apology, though, Bumblebee wasn't completely convinced. He was frowning again within the moment, looking strangely at his lover. "You weren't just thinking about Decepticons, were you?" he asked. "You were thinking about Blackarachnia. That's why you were acting weird all this time, wasn't it?" His tone was starting to get a little accusatory—Bee tried to control it, but he couldn't help it. 

"Of course, she’s been on my processors, too..." Prime saw no reason to deny it. "I told you why." 

Bumblebee frowned. "You don't get it, do you? You start thinking about her, and then you act all strange and you get away from us—away from _me_." The yellow 'bot pulled back, arms dropping from Prime's frame. "How do you think that makes me feel? Especially after you told me what you would have done with her if you'd known about bonding! Is she so much more important to you?" 

"What—?" Optimus turned and blinked. He was so perfectly sure that Bee would never question his feelings, that now this hit him quite hard. He thought it was ridiculous. "That I was thinking about her does not mean I was wishing her to come back, so I could take her as my new mate," he said, a little annoyed. "She was my friend, and I'm mourning the loss; and I was occupied with analyzing the recent situation and the possible future events. Don't be silly, Bumblebee." 

"Not _one_ circuit in you wanted her to come back." Bee didn't ask it, he stated it—suspiciously, at that. 

Prime's fist clenched. "Stop this sparkling behavior. If there'd be a chance, of course I'd love to see her on our side, because she was a friend once and an Autobot!" He shook his head. "I can't believe you're jealous." 

Bee crossed his arms, looking much like Sari did when she was arguing about something. "You told me you would have liked to bond with her, Prime—what am I supposed to think?!" 

"You are supposed to trust me," Optimus stated coldly. "That's what mates do. But now, you seem to be unable to believe me. You are accusing me of lying. I will not favor you over others, nor will I forget about my other friends. Because, and you might want to know that, I do have a few of them." 

The yellow 'bot opened his mouth to say something, stuttered, then clamped it shut. Steam hissed out between his faceplates in anything from anger to embarrassment. The conflict came because, on some levels, Bumblebee knew he was right. But it wasn't stopping him from worrying...from being scared.

What was he scared of? Losing Prime? It had to be that, but if what Optimus said was true, then Bee had been concerned over nothing but a ghost. Then what was making it so hard to accept?

Bumblebee's expression tightened and he looked away, crossing his arms tighter over his chest and making a growling sound as he tried to sort out his feelings. He didn't know Blackarachnia like Optimus had; maybe that had something to do with it, but... 

The young leader straightened and nodded. "Well then, as soon as you cease with that sparkling pouting, you'll be more than welcome back in my room any time. For now, I'll retreat to recharge. It's been a tiring day." 

Bee didn't respond coherently as Optimus took his leave. He mumbled a "goodnight", though that was the end of it. Once alone, the yellow mech slumped to the rooftop under the stars and stared longingly up at them, as if begging for answers.

It was some time again before Bumblebee stood at the doorway of Prime's room, in the darkness of night, just before the larger mech was about to go into recharge. Guilty blue optics stared at Optimus through the glow of the light in the outside hallway, the only give-away to Bumblebee's emotional state as he stood rigidly at the door, shifting on his feet.

"...Can...I sleep here?" he asked, timid and quiet. 

Optimus was tempted to ask 'Aren't you afraid that I might dream about somebody else?', but he restrained himself. "Of course you can," he said softly. "Come in." He had been offended, yes...but he had watched enough soap operas with Bulkhead to understand these feelings now. And besides...Bee looked adorable when guilty. 

Bumblebee was sulky the whole walk over to Prime's berth. He pulled himself up, with a bit of help from the other, and immediately curled up on top of the leader-bot's broad chest, legs dangling off down Optimus' middle. 

"Silly little Bee," Prime murmured, as he wound his arms around the yellow frame. "I love you. Don't ever doubt that. If, by any chance, I...if my feelings will change, I will not play games with you. I'm not that kind of a mech, and you know it." 

The yellow 'bot huffed a long sigh, and fell silent.

"...I'm sorry," he finally mumbled. "I know it was stupid. It's just, when you talked about her, you said you would have liked to bond with her, and then you acted all aloof...and you sounded so...so _captured_ by her..." Bee nuzzled Prime's chest. "I...jumped the plasma gun, a little, I guess." 

"It's alright. I think I sort of took you for granted; the thought never crossed my processors, that you might interpret my behavior as such. I'm sorry as well. I should have been clearer about it." Optimus pressed a kiss against the smaller mech's forehead. "Still mates?" 

Bee smiled, shifting up a bit to reach and kiss Prime's cheek, "Still mates."


	15. Burning Bright 01

It was going to be _so easy_. 

Once Meltdown had discovered, that the abandoned island wasn't even as abandoned as it seemed, he wrote it up on the to-do list "enslave robotic dinosaurs". When he took a little break from experimenting, he always walked out to the edge of the crater, to watch his future minions. They displayed some signs of intelligence, though not much, and that made them perfect candidates for intimidation tactics. 

And, training never can begin too early; so on a nice, sunny day, the monster formerly known as Prometheus Black simply strolled down to the valley to face his pets. 

Grimlock was perfectly content, most of the time. He liked this island. There was plenty of room to stomp around, shake the ground and trees, to roar at the sky and spit columns of fire from his T-Rex mouth. He sometimes calmed down and watched the wildlife flitting through the trees, and he sometimes chased the little white fluffy creatures around. Sometimes Swoop and Snarl would join him. He liked Swoop and Snarl; they listened to him and they were nice. Slow, sometimes—Grimlock puffed his form every time he gloated over discovering his second form first—but nice. It wasn't long after they'd been brought to this place by the two transforming cars that a sort of tribal hierarchy was established between the three, and Grimlock eagerly claimed his place as the self-designated leader. Swoop and Snarl didn't argue. 

Like any tribal leader, Grimlock looked after his companions, and paraded his way around the cratered island where they resided, having long since declared it their territory. So when, one day, he was gnawing on the trunk of a thick oak tree, and saw a tiny living form approaching, Grimlock stopped what he was doing and widened one optic with a grunt.

The little form appeared to be one of those flesh creatures he remembered seeing from the other place where the transforming cars were from. "Humans", weren't they? This one was dressed strangely, and he had a funny-looking head. Grimlock didn't like him, and he especially didn't like any flesh creature invading on his territory.

So the T-Rex, with a mighty snarl, stomped his feet and roared in the creature's face.

"Stop!" he growled. "This Us Dinobots' land! You flesh creature not come! Me Grimlock not like fleshie in Dinobots' land!" He lunged, powering up for a blast of fire-breath. "You leave, or me Grimlock _make_ you leave!" 

Swoop tilted his head up, watching the exchange with keen optics. He liked to watch Grimlock displaying his strength, even though he kept this little fact to himself. The bigger Dinobot was a nice sight, armor shining in the sunlight, mighty form stomping on anything, one swish of that tail crushing rocks. It was...nice. Swoop didn't understand the feeling, but his chest was warm when he watched Grimlock, and it was good to curl up against him at nights when the air cooled down, for some added heat. 

And now, he wanted to see Grimlock squish the fool who trespassed on their territory.

Meltdown, however, was not phased. Not the slightest. He stopped in his tracks, measuring the distance. "Not so fast, you dim-witted mechanoid," He snarled. "This is MY island now, and you are going to work for me... if you want to live." 

Snarl watched in his triceratops form near where Swoop was perched in the trees, observing Grimlock as the T-Rex stomped his feet some more and roared, trying to intimidate Meltdown. Snarl admired Grimlock less for his looks and more for his strength; it was always fun to see him smashing things, and it looked like they were soon to be treated to a lovely fleshbag pancake.

"YOUR island? This Us Dinobots' island! Dinobots first, Dinobots always! Island not belong to human! RAAARGH!" Grimlock, without another word of argument, spat a long, hot stream of fire at Meltdown. 

With an almost bored look, Meltdown swung his left hand forward, and his acid shot battled with the fire effectively, the liquid evaporating in the heat, turning into lethal fumes. That surely didn't add anything to the ozone layer. 

Not waiting for the Dinobot to attempt another attack, Meltdown adjusted his body and aimed; he didn't want to cripple his pets, merely give them a taste of what will come if they disobey. A thin but powerful jet of acid broke forth from his fingertip, precisely singing the T-Rex's upper thigh. "I am _not_ a human, and you can't defeat me! My power is far above yours!" Ahh, it felt nice to brag. 

Grimlock cried out painfully as the acid splattered his thigh and stumbled backwards, bending to take a look at the damage with a hurt growl. Snarl's tri-horns flared and he stomped, optics brightening. He moved anxiously, wanting to assist, but Grimlock suddenly didn't seem so eager to attack. He snarled at Meltdown, stomping.

"Mmmgh...me Grimlock not afraid of you, human! Us Dinobots not afraid!" He reared himself up, glinting in the sun at full height. "Right, Dinobots?!"

Swoop launched himself from his comfortable branch when it became apparent that the leader was hurt; he targeted the infuriating human-like thing, fully determined to annihilate it, and trusting his own abilities as a flier.

However, Meltdown took aim and the acid splashed against Swoop's wing. The slender Dinobot screeched from pain and desperately tried to at least land without more damage - flying was out of the question. 

The scientist turned toward Snarl. "You're next." 

Snarl cried and took the challenge without hesitation, charging right past where Swoop was struggling to stay aloft and land safely, going straight for the human that had harmed his fellow Dinobots. He wouldn't stand for it—not while he still functioned. 

Meltdown merely laughed and he didn't even shoot the Dinobot—he created a puddle of acid right under his feet, and the almost blindly charging Triceratops had no chance of avoiding it. 

Snarl realized a little too late that the melting substance the human apparently possessed had been put directly in his path. He tried to slow his momentum, but he ended up skidding right into it. Wailing, Snarl rolled, trying to escape the pit and stomping his feet to get out.

Grimlock finally reached down and grabbed Snarl by the tail, yanking him out, dragging him across the grass. Snarl collapsed on his side, kicking his legs as if trying to cool them. It burned _horribly_. 

Swoop scurried behind the leader, flapping his damaged wing and he poked the aching patch with his beak and whimpered. His wing, his lovely wing, it hurt so much! The flier's optics burned with hate as he hissed at the human—or whatever it was—in anger.

Meltdown folded his arms. "I think I managed to get my point across. This is my island, as I'm the strongest one here! But, I'm a nice guy. I will not take your territory, until you obey me. A few errands, some favors... and I'll let you to your rather simple life."

Grimlock still snarled through a metallic jaw, optics narrowing as he crouched protectively over his companions. There was a long silence that permeated the air, until the T-Rex gave a swoosh of his tail.

"Dinobots, follow fleshling..." an irritated growl, "For now." 

"At the moment, I don't need you," Meltdown waved his hand generously. "But when I will, I'll come to you. You just watch this island, and if you see somebody intruding... Make sure he won't leave." 

The T-Rex gave a low hiss. "Fine. Leave now. See Dinobots when _need_ to see Dinobots." Grimlock's tone was a warning, clearly voicing that he still did not like this human, nor did he intend to stay loyal to him after it had fallen out of their favor. He did not want this human near him or Snarl or Swoop unless it was necessary, and he made that very apparent. 

Meltdown laughed. "Don't worry. I'll return." He turned on his heels and walked away, relishing in the feel of power. It was indeed so ridiculously easy...piece of cake. 

As soon as he disappeared, Swoop transformed, and settled down on the ground, cradling his injured wing, lightly running a hand over the burn mark, as if he was trying to just brush off the pain. "Me Swoop hate human..." 

"Me Snarl hate him too," grumbled the triceratops, turning onto his other side and nestling his feet against the ground. Grimlock leant down, nudging Swoop and Snarl in kind with his massive black head.

"But better to listen. Stay alive. When timing right, us Dinobots punish human. Me Grimlock promise." 

The flier reached up and ran a hand down on Grimlock's massive neck. "You Grimlock okay? Human injured Grimlock." It made him angry and worried. How dared that fleshling to hurt all of them, and make them obey? They didn't even obey that Megatron...! 

The T-Rex rumbled a low growl. "Me Grimlock fine. Only scratch. You Swoop and Snarl worse." 

Swoop nodded, cawing quietly. "Us should hide...rest and heal. Get better to fight human," he suggested. This was a painful battle - there was nothing on the island what could have harmed them, and now, this... _creature_ appeared and defeated them with such an infuriating ease...! But really, what could they do against the burning mud he slung at them? It hurt terribly. 

Grimlock and Snarl both grunted in agreement. "There good cave that way," Grimlock lunged his head in a general direction, "Us hide there." Snarl tried to roll himself onto his feet. Grimlock helped him, but the triceratops gave a low whine as he limped about on all fours. "Me Snarl's feet hurt." 

"Try other form, maybe won't hurt that much," Swoop said, as he patted his comrade. "Cave not far. You Snarl strong." Something was heating up in his chest, but it was not nice... It made him restless and tense. Seeing his comrades hurt, being hurt, being defeated made him want to screech and smash things... But now was not the time to do that. They had to keep together. 

Snarl made a noise and transformed, wincing as he moved into his mech mode. Grimlock nudged them both along, transforming to join them in their alternate forms. "Us move now," he said, moving in the direction of the cave. 

Even the short route seemed to be long wit their aching parts. The cool shadow did come good, though; Swoop let his ventilation huff and he pulled into a corner, and Snarl, shifting back to beast-form, pressed his aching feet against the cold rocks. 

It's been long they had these feelings...bitterness from defeat and fear for the future. It was the same when the car robots captured them, but that turned out okay—they were brought here eventually by the lean black one and the huge green one, and left alone. But now...there was no help in sight. 

Grimlock, perhaps more than the other two, was quite hurt by the recent development. His pride and his ego were shot to pieces and he was fuming, growling low in his throat a few times as he turned into beast mode again and nestled up against the cave wall. He reached down, nudging against his injured thigh, glancing this way and that at his companions. Oh, how the human would pay! Nobody harmed them like this and left alive. Grimlock would be sure to save something _especially_ destructive for that pesky fleshbag.


	16. Burning Bright 02

Gradually, the night descended and the air cooled down. A small breeze picked up outside, carrying many scents and bats flittered on its wing. The three Dinobots were still rather grumpy, but the pain was lessening, and it was time again for recharge.

Swoop was done sulking; now something else occupied his mind than revenge. For revenge, one has to be strong, and... He wasn't really strong. Not like Grimlock and Snarl, who could smash anything to pieces. His strength was flying, and his screech, which made the others' heads hurt, but...if he couldn't fly, what would be left? He shifted closer to their leader, gaining reassurance from his powerful presence. 

Grimlock wasn't quite in recharge yet, and shifted to nudge Swoop when the pterodactyl shuffled nearer to him. "You Swoop's wing will fix?" he murmured, surprisingly quiet as opposed to his usual loudness. Snarl was already in recharge, optics offline, vents thrumming loudly in his sleep. 

"Me Swoop not know." The flier replied quietly. "Me Swoop hope. Me Swoop like flying." He was quiet for a while. "If me Swoop can't fly more, you Grimlock will kill Swoop...?" It seemed logical. If he was useless, he merely hindered the pack, took up space...dragged them down. And Grimlock was the leader. Among them, he decided if one lived or died. 

The T-Rex paused for a moment, tensing slightly. Of course, logically, it did make sense, but...somehow Grimlock...didn't like the idea. Even if Swoop would be useless, it seemed... _awful_ to terminate him.

"Mrrrgh," he growled, "Swoop dumb. Grimlock not kill Swoop ever." 

The slender flier leaned against the bigger mech wearily, some of the tension escaping him. His thin arms sneaked over Grimlock's neck and he looked up. "Me Swoop thank you Grimlock. Me Swoop want stay with Snarl and Grimlock on island. Island good. Wind good. Living good." 

Grimlock paused, leaning against Swoop a bit when those long stick-thin arms wrapped over his neck. He liked it when Swoop gave him such attentions; it was another one of those strange things that felt nice.

"You Swoop sleep now," he commanded gently. "Sleep good for Swoop." 

"Yes...but me Swoop's chest pounding. Me Swoop angry with human, me Swoop worry for wing, worry for others. And me Swoop think...think much lately." He absent-mindedly ran a hand down on the T-Rex's chest. "Me Swoop see Nature. Us Dinobots different from Nature." 

"Me Grimlock know that." The T-Rex made a rumbling sound, sinking a bit lower as Swoop's claws scraped lightly over his chest. "What wrong with us Dinobots? Not bad to be different." 

"Me Swoop not say that," the flier protested, his claws tracing the seams on the strong neck, up to the powerful jaws. "You Grimlock see furry things? See flying things? Them always touch. Us Dinobots not touch much." He rubbed his faceplates against the other's armor. "Me Swoop not know why. Touch feel nice. You Grimlock feel warm." 

Grimlock tensed, optics flickering a bit when Swoop nuzzled him like that. He rumbled again, vents picking up their rotation a little. He transformed into his mech mode to join Swoop, picking him up and settling the flight-loving robot in his lap.

"Me Grimlock not think of touching," he admitted. "But Swoop right. It feel nice." He ran a hand over the crest sweeping back from the crown of Swoop's head, petting it idly. Swoop was small and always looked so weak...Grimlock was pleasantly surprised, however, that the mech was so strong regardless, in his own way. 

The slender flier in his hold tensed with the touch. None of his comrades had poked him there before and...Grimlock's fingers ignited something deep inside him. His insides stirred, his vents hummed a touch louder and Swoop couldn't help but offline his optics and lean back into the touch, crooning quietly from the pleasure. "You Grimlock do that more..." 

The leader tilted his head curiously at the way Swoop reacted, and ran his hand in long strokes over the flier's crest. "Swoop like...?" 

"Yesss..." Swoop shuddered from bliss. "Touch nice... makes me Swoop all tingly inside and warm. You Grimlock...make me Swoop feel happy. Crrrooo..." 

Grimlock made a deep growl, leaning closer to the slender flier in his lap and continuing to stroke Swoop's crest. He wondered if this 'touching' thing had some importance. Swoop appeared to enjoy it somehow...Grimlock had never seen the flier acting this way. It made something warm swell up in his chest and made his vents run a little faster.

Grimlock curiously lifted one hand, arm curling around Swoop and pulling him in a little closer. He ran his fingers over the edge of Swoop's wing—the good one that hadn't been damaged by that strange, pesky human. 

He was rewarded by another delightful shiver, and the frail arms curling around his neck. Swoop let out a curious noise, a long purr, which sent vibrations thought his form and into Grimlock's as well. The delicate frame was heating up considerably by now, and Swoop rubbed his faceplates against his leader's. "S-so good... Hot, good, me Swoop feel like melting inside...!" The flier moaned, mind slowly sinking into a blissful daze. "Touch more...!" 

Grimlock swelled his chest out, vents spitting hot air as the vibrations from Swoop's voice made him tingle. Warmth spread in a wave following them, making his insides feel strangely twisted. Swoop _really_ liked this. Grimlock didn't quite understand what he was doing, or what Swoop was doing to him, but it was so good that he didn't want to stop anytime soon.

Growling with pleasure, Grimlock returned the flier's loving nuzzles and stroked his crest and his curved silver wing, spreading his palm flat against the surface and wrapping his fingers over the edges.

He earned a small squeal of pleasure in return, and Swoop's frame arched backwards in his arms. "Me Swoop feel...all funny...something comes...inside...!" His vents sputtered, and as Grimlock's fingers pressed down a little firmer, Swoop jerked back, tensing almost painfully, his claws scratching the leader's armor, his optics wide and blazing, and he let out a loud screech, his limbs trembling. Several tiny lightning arced over his body, and as they died off, the flier went limp, leaning heavily against the T-Rex. 

Grimlock growled again, practically roaring as heat rattled through his systems again—he arched a bit himself when Swoop scratched and scraped at his chest, and kept Swoop close after the little flier stiffened. He was a bit startled at the lightning, though; when his companion didn't move much for a while, Grimlock poked at Swoop's chest. Snarl stirred and rolled over to his other side.

"...You Swoop okay...?" 

"Crrooo..." Swoop finally picked himself up and leaned back just a little, still steadying himself with both hands on Grimlock's shoulder. "M-me Swoop alright... Me Swoop thought Swoop would die, though, it was _too good_. Me Swoop thank you Grimlock. Wing hurts less." With a smile, he nuzzled the leader again, thankful for the overwhelming experience. 

Grimlock kept a hand up to steady Swoop a little more when the flier wasn't standing straight. "Mmm...me Grimlock thank you Swoop." 

"You Grimlock feel same?" Swoop asked curiously; he didn't recall Grimlock displaying the same symptoms, but his mind was occupied enough with feeling good to miss the signs... And, wouldn't it be only fair, to let the other experience the same bliss, after handing it out? 

The Rex-mech grunted in response. "Inside feels hot—felt nice. But me Grimlock not make blue sparks like Swoop." 

The flier thought about that. "Me Swoop really felt funny and very nice... as if insides go boom on a good way. Me Swoop not think, just feel and feel. Chest all warm and comfy and happy. Same for Grimlock...?" 

Grimlock paused, tilting his head a bit. "...Me Grimlock feel everything but 'boom' part," he said honestly. 

"Then... you Grimlock need more touching, maybe?" Swoop pondered. After all, he haven't really touched the leader, just nuzzled a bit. Curiously, he began to run his fingers all over Grimlock's frame. Maybe... Grimlock had some part too, which felt better when touched, like Swoop's crest and wings. 

Grimlock's vents skipped an intake when Swoop's slender claw-like fingers began to move in strokes over his armor. But, feeling the warmth building up in his systems again, he quickly relaxed—a rumbling purr filtering out of his vocals in the meanwhile.

It was well and good, for a while—the flier's attentions were making Grimlock squirm a bit against the cave wall, gazing down at Swoop, watching every movement of his claws. It wasn't until Swoop reached the mighty mech's shoulders, claws brushing over the spikes on his back and along the black undersides, that Grimlock's optics flickered and he finally growled/moaned.

"Mmmmm...! You Swoop do that more..." 

The flier's optics flickered with delight; it was an interesting feeling to be able to make the other moan; especially somebody as big and strong as Grimlock. He continued with his ministrations eagerly, relishing in the moans he managed to coax forth from the leader. His golden claws pressed and explored, carefully slipping into tiny gaps on the armor, cautiously tracing the circuitry beneath. 

Grimlock shuddered, cooling systems whirring a little faster as a delightfully pleasing tingle ran through him under the swelling heat. He moaned again, flexing his claws against the ground, making valleys in the dirt where they scraped. His chassis began to rise and fall with every few cycles of his vents, trying to expel the heat while his world went dizzy.

"Feels so good...me Grimlock feel funny feeling..." 

Swoop was grinning. He was getting warm again in the inside...not the lightning-warm, from the touches, but like when he performed a difficult aerial maneuver, or did something well and was acknowledged for it. "You Grimlock not fight it..." he cooed, pressing himself a little closer. Mmm, the leader was warm, so fine warm... and Swoop, for some reason, fully intended to make him even hotter, until his insides melted. 

The Rex-mech didn't really intend to fight it—he saw no reason to. It felt too good. Grimlock felt like he was going to melt into a puddle, shuddering, leaning over Swoop a bit and lifting an arm to place a hand on the flier's back. Another moan broke its chains when Swoop's claws scraped over Grimlock's shoulder spikes again. The heat was compressing and pulsing, gathering to a head, and Grimlock felt like he would burst.

"Mmmh! Hot...so gooood...!" 

Swoop leaned even closer and rubbed his face against Grimlock's jaws—first, it was easier to touch him from this close, and it felt... the right thing to do. And it was nice to hear him moan, the voice was appealing. The flier wanted to hear it more. 

Grimlock's voice rumbled in Swoop's audios—his vocals couldn't screech and cause the same damage or pleasure that Swoop's could, but it was fulfilling in its own way, and shockingly gentle compared to his usual roars and snarls. Grimlock tensed a bit, hand pressing against Swoop's back as he growled low in his throat, encouraging the flier to continue--the heat was swelling still and starting to leak through his systems, making his optics flicker off and twist his expression in strange ways. Swoop's touch felt _wonderful_. Grimlock moaned again, arching, some lightning sparking over his chassis as the energy built to a spiking peak--he didn't want it to end, honestly didn't, but it seemed he soon wouldn't have much choice. 

The flier almost felt as if he could undergo the same wonderful inside-storm as before just by watching the leader writhe beneath him and moan and growl and radiating heat, so much heat. The tiny sizzles tickled his armor, and he applied more pressure to the caresses, eager to see the other being lost in the blissful agony. "Yes, you Grimlock so pretty..." He cooed, not even really thinking about the words. A fitting term seemed to come to mind, as if it had been there all along, waiting to be used. "You Grimlock overload for me Swoop...!" 

Grimlock's jaw tightened and his optics squinted as Swoop uttered those words; he arched, lightning crackling over his armor, steam spitting out between the seams. He cried out, and wasn't watching his strength when he stiffened against the wall, all but ramming a hole into it and causing the cave to shudder in unison with him as the heat exploded through his systems. Grimlock felt deadlocked in bliss for the longest time, waves bouncing through him, everything sizzling and hissing while he growled and snarled, viciously pleasant.

When he was able to relax, Grimlock pulled Swoop in against his larger frame and moved down to nuzzle the side of the flier's face happily. "Me Grimlock warm like Swoop now," he purred. 

Swoop giggled, and although it felt a little... inappropriate to do that, he cuddled close to the leader, curling up in his lap. "Feel good, much touching. Pain better for you Grimlock, too?" 

The T-Rex nodded. "Pain much, much better," he confirmed. 

"You Grimlock think us can do that more? Nights sometimes cold, warm nice then." The flier stretched and moaned in delight, as his armor creaked and his wires relaxed. "Overload nice." 

Grimlock hummed, "Me Grimlock hope many cold nights."


	17. Quiet Conversation

The battered ambulance car stopped after it rolled into the quietly crumbling old factory building's garage. Ratchet transformed and stretched a bit, wincing when his back struts creaked. Today was a long day; even without the Cons coming back for a rematch. The Ark needed a lot of repair, despite the assistance of Sari's key. Besides, he took the girl home hours ago.

"Tired?" guessed a voice.

Prowl was lurking in the shadows nearby, legs crossed where he sat. Apparently he'd been meditating in here. "Perhaps you should find some help besides Sari once in a while. I'm not on patrol much these days; if you need assistance, just tell me and I'll do all I can."

"That would be nice," Ratchet nodded and he slouched closer to the ninjabot, to drop down for a few minutes. "Nnngh, my optics are riddled with static...it's damn dark down there." He glanced up at Prowl. "Your expertise would come handy; at least you know what you're doing." There was a small smile on his faceplates.

Prowl shrugged. "The difference is I can work without losing focus or breaking half of what I fix," he responded smoothly. He adored Bumblebee and Bulkhead, he really did, but sometimes those two tended to cause more problems than they repaired.

The bike mech drew one leg up to prop an arm on his knee, leaning back and assuming a more casual position. "Things are going to be more difficult now, aren't they?" he mused. "Now that there are Decepticons on the loose, I mean."

"The fragging War just doesn't want to end." Ratchet stated morosely. "If somebody came claiming Megatron is alive, I wouldn't be surprised... He was a mean heap of slag. And those two experienced fighters, who had seen many battles... If not for the Ark's weaponry, we'd all be dead by now." He looked away. "Primus help me, I don't want another war. I'd die defending the Allspark, but I don't want that time to ever repeat. Not while I'm online, and not afterwards. I don't worry much for you...you know what fighting is. But the youngsters..."

"You might have to accept that the War very well may continue, Ratchet." Prowl said calmly. "I don't like it, either, but it's a possibility. And with the younger ones, we have been training them well. They're not so vulnerable anymore. I watched them in that underwater fight the other day; they handled themselves excellently."

Reaching down, Prowl put a companionable hand on Ratchet's shoulder. "In either case, all is not lost."

"I know, I know..." The medic let his vents huff with a heavy sigh and he offlined his optics. "Those damn little glitches are not half as bad. Prime's a fine mech already, but...I'm tired. Primus knows how many Decepticons are out there, and if any of you goes down...I hate to admit it, but it'd cost me a processor or two. I got too attached to you bit-brains."

Prowl managed a smile. "We've all gotten attached to each other, I think. You're not alone in that."

Ratchet chuckled and pulled Prowl closer. "You're my favorite from the bunch, though," he admitted. "You're not causing trouble, you don't run your vocalizer and those fancy moves you pull are amazing. I've seen a few fighting like you...they were great mechs, all of them."

At being drawn down, Prowl took a seat beside Ratchet, a little closer this time. "I try," he said modestly, betraying no sort of pride...at least, not until he smirked wide. "And my moves could get much fancier, if I wanted. Best to go with the simplest methods, though;" Occam's razor, and all that.

"Simple and elegant," the medic nodded. "One really wonders why you are here with this mismatched troupe."

The smile dropped within an astro-second. "Long story short—it was an accident."

"It always is." Ratchet cast a sideways glance to the ninjabot. "I don't want to hear if you don't want to tell. Prime's keeping something, too—I do as well. I wonder, though, if Bee will find out the boss... They're bound to end up together."

"I'm sure it will eventually come to that," Prowl agreed. "But if Optimus wants something kept quiet from the others, I sense Bumblebee will be able to respect that. They do love each other, those two."

"They do. But you can't keep your secrets with a bonded spark." The medic looked up, through a window, at the starry sky. "Not sure they'll go there; but if they do, they'll be the first mechs to do so since a very long time. Sometimes it feels like a sign...that things are turning to the better. We have the Allspark, and if we manage to keep it, and take it home... things will surely change."

Prowl didn't say anything, though he did follow the medic's gaze up to the stars, and scanned the vast expanse of them as if searching for something. Their home was out there, somewhere, in those stars. They were so very far away.

"...I wonder if..." Prowl frowned, optic ridges tightening, "Maybe we won't have to go for help...maybe help will come to us."

"Logically, it should," Ratchet remarked a bit sarcastically. "We went MIA fifty solar cycles ago; one would suppose the High Command would try to locate such a precious cargo as the Allspark. However, it makes me worry. They could easily declare Optimus a traitor even. They don't really have the right, but Magnus changed as well; he might not be as forgiving as he had been."

"I should hope he hasn't. That would be rather tyrannical." Prowl looked over at the medic. "I can see how easy it would be to make that assumption, but it still wouldn't be much better than the actions of a Decepticon." Besides that, Prowl knew Magnus couldn't have changed that much—at least he hoped he hadn't. Long ago when he'd been given his job in construction, it had taken some convincing, and Ultra Magnus had still been gracious then.

"Eh. We'll have to see, if they come," Ratchet grumbled. "I suppose I find it hard to believe in anything, aside you guys." He wasn't that optimistic. Optimus went against the highest order, and albeit his actions most probably rid them of the very leader of the Decepticons, he still kept the Autobots from reclaiming the Allspark. Ratchet knew that Magnus cared for Cybertron, he wanted to restore it; and he remembered that he never was kind to rebels. 

Prowl hummed. They really would have to wait and see. Until then, they had their hands full with restoring the Ark, training the younglings and protecting Detroit, among other things. Perhaps it’s time Sari learned to defend herself as well—that key was becoming a highly desired object of sorts.

Prowl sighed, a long and drawn-out sound echoing some hidden sort of wish. If help did arrive for them, he was certain a mech would be among their ranks that he would have to be sure and properly thank when they descended...

The medic's thoughts moved on a similar line. If they come, will a good old companion be on board as well? The one with faded, scratched armor but still tough, his smile challenging and his manners rough, his spark radiating familiar waves...? Ratchet missed him so much. Not really the bonding, the bright-hot pleasure, just his presence, the reassuring hum of his systems, the secure weigh of his heavy hands... It was a foolish thing, more fit to a slender femme, but he couldn't help it. Such was the nature of sparkbonding. 

"...Know anyone from back home?" Prowl asked idly. It wasn't much of a question, but it was something. He felt talkative today.

"Yeah, I do," the medic nodded. He was not against a little chat, either. "Weapons Master Ironhide."

" _That_ cannon-lugging mech?" Prowl asked incredulously. "I assume you met him in your med bay, then."

Ratchet laughed. "Well, not mine, but that of the Autobot Academy medic's...I was his apprentice, and Ironhide was still a cadet. He was prone to get into fights."

"Not surprising," hummed Prowl. He'd heard a lot about Ironhide, and while much of the news was promising, he'd also heard the mech tended to—as Ratchet had pointed out—pick fights, both on and off the battlefield. He shuddered. "Well, to each their own, I guess...I don't know how anyone can stand his habits, a medic especially. Always sounds like he's got something injured."

"Mostly himself," the medic remarked. "But he has a spark of gold; he was always loyal, brave and supportive toward the younglings. He was one of the best soldiers Magnus had. And he's still by best friend. He'd surely appreciate your skills. "

Prowl nodded. "I would be honored to meet him, but to be honest, I would much rather meet with Jazz again."

"The SIC?" The medic quirked an optic ridge, "Oh, yeah, you've worked together. He must be a _good friend _of yours." Yes, he was deliberately pushing it. Why should he be the only one telling secrets...?__

__"You mean the way Ironhide is probably a good friend of _yours_?"_ _

__Ratchet threw his head back and laughed. "I'm really getting old... And you're a smug, smug glitch!" He grinned at Prowl. "And no, actually...because I think you weren't as good friends as we are."_ _

__"Hmmm..." Prowl crossed his arms. But he was smiling. "Were we not so busy all the time, we could have been."_ _

__A red hand came to rest on his golden one. "When we get back, by all means, catch him. I remember the days when bonding was something you could freely do. And if it's anything, it's something the Cons would never do. It requires trust, honesty and love, and that's what sets us apart. We Autobots can work as a unit...as a family."_ _

__Prowl looked down at the medic's hand covering his, and the smile widened slightly. "We _are_ a family, in a way," he replied. "And... Thank you. It feels good to have someone else’s blessings on the matter." _ _

__"What, Prime tried to discourage you?" The medic smirked. "I don't think so. I guess we just want each other to be happy, now don't we. That yellow menace promptly tried to cheer me up back then when he was slagged by Meltdown..."_ _

__"He didn't discourage me," Prowl replied, frowning a bit. "I was just voicing how I felt. And you definitely need the cheering up, what with you grousing all the time."_ _

__As if trying to live up to his reputation, the medic made a face and grumbled. "Don't try to pull this trick with me...! It didn't work with Bumblebee and it won't work for you, either. I am how I am. I'm grumpy and rough and all that, and I'm pretty sure you don't want me to be any other way."_ _

__Prowl chuckled, "Oh, yes, I'm quite sure." It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere. In the end, he patted Ratchet's shoulder and stood up. "It doesn't mean we don't want to see you any other way...why do you think Bumblebee was so curious about it?"_ _

__"My softer side is something that doesn't come around often," Ratchet reasoned, "And therefore, you should cherish it!" He stood up as well, with a grunt. "Primus, it's getting late, and tomorrow's another day of repairs...we should go recharge."_ _

__The ninja 'bot nodded his agreements. "Rest well, Ratchet," he said as he headed in the direction of his berth. "I'll see you in the morning."_ _


	18. Prehistoric Pleasures 01

Ratchet was working diligently on the injuries. Fortunately, his patients didn't protest much against the stasis—it would have been very painful to scrape the damaged surface off their metallic skin had they been awake, for both them and the medic. 

But now, Swoop lay still while his burned leg was repaired; the other two, Grimlock and Snarl didn't cause trouble. Well, Grimlock asked an awful lot of questions before, but for now, his thirst for knowledge seemed to be quenched. Snarl was mostly just jogging around, enjoying that no part of him was aching anymore. 

Prowl had conveniently forgotten to confess to Prime that they had transported the dinos to the island, but he told Ratchet, and asked him to go to there and treat the injuries Meltdown inflicted on them, making a special effort to emphasize that they were transformers as well. The good old medic grumbled first, like always, but it turned out that the savages were only half as bad as he imagined. When they made sure Grimlock and his companions understood that Ratchet will help them, Bulkhead and Prowl even dared to leave the medic alone with them. The ninjabot ran off to scout the surrounding forest, and the green giant set out to check the abandoned facility to make sure those two monsters they had encountered were the only ones Meltdown made.

As the medic concentrated his focus on Swoop, Grimlock sat down nearby, eagerly waiting for Ratchet to finish his work. He had managed to find a suitable position, placing him at an acceptable closeness to his teammate while managing to stay out of Ratchet's way. He was in his mech mode for the moment, following every move, every scrape and shift that Ratchet made with his hands. It wasn’t that Grimlock didn’t trust the Autobot; it was just was impossible to shirk the thought that something bad might happen, and he couldn't help but be a little protective. Quizzical, as some time had passed, Grimlock leaned forward and tilted his head.

"You Ratchet finish soon?" he asked, deep voice rumbling from behind a dark jaw. 

"Not if you don't get out of my faceplates," the medic grumbled out of habit, then caught himself. These creatures were not used to social standards; Ratchet thought of them as overgrown, fierce sparklings. "But I don't have much more work to do, the corroded surface is removed; now I'll just smear some liquid metal on your friend's leg and fix it. You're the leader of this bunch, right? Take good care of your companions; they should rest for a day or two, no serious exercise. That goes for you, too. The injuries stopped hurting, I know, and they look good, but if you overstrain yourselves, things can go wrong." He took the can of the liquid metal and carefully smoothed it out on Swoop's leg, replacing the missing piece of armor. 

Grimlock just gave a low grunt. "Me Grimlock not let Dinobots hurt themselves. You Ratchet not worry." As if to confirm, he puffed his chest out a little proudly.

The medic nodded, and quickly finished the process, running a careful fingertip over the new layer of armor. That would do. He began to gently wake Swoop from the stasis. Soon enough, the flier's optics flickered online, and he let out a quiet moan. Ratchet helped him to sit, and held the narrow shoulders until the dizziness of the reboot passed. 

Swoop glanced at his leg curiously, poking it a bit, but the medic swatted his hand away. "No, no, don't scratch it. Take it easy for a day or two, okay? You don't want to make it hurt again, right?"

Swoop shook his head. "Me Swoop's leg not hurt anymore; me Swoop feel fine. Me Swoop thank you Ratchet."

"It's what I do," the medic replied with a small smile. 

Grimlock moved a little closer once Swoop was awake and tilted his head to inspect Ratchet's work. He was easily satisfied, turning to face the medic. "Me Grimlock thank you Autobot...Dinobots thank you Ratchet."

"Sure, sure," the medic waved off. He leaned back, against a huge rock and arranged his medical box's contents. "You're free to go on your merry ways. I'll just sit here and wait for the others."

Snarl, who was silent until this, pulled a bit closer, up next to Ratchet. He kept staring, until the medic shifted. "What?"

Snarl pointed out the broken red chevron on the medic's forehead. "You healer broken." 

Grimlock followed Snarl's pointed finger, and his optics blinked curiously. "Why you healer not heal yourself?" 

Ratchet cringed a bit. "I...It's...difficult. It's like...a reminder of a battle. I just left it like that, because I don't want to forget what happened back then."

Swoop reached out and his long, thin claws lightly tapped at the chevron. Ratchet pulled away. "Do broken part hurt?" the flier questioned. Ratchet shook his head. "No. Not anymore." But that didn't seem to satisfy the flier. He began to explore the white armor with his fingers. "You Ratchet seen many battles. Armor all scratched and dented."

"It's nothing..." the medic squirmed a bit; those fingers ghosted over his lower arm, and the charge coating them clashed with his...the touches felt nice. "I'm old, it doesn't matter. I don't heal that well anymore."

"Healer in pain?" Grimlock questioned, closing in on Ratchet to start completing the circle the three mechs made around him. He seemed to be thinking about something as he reached out and lightly poked Ratchet's chevron, optics narrowing. He rumbled, his inner systems making him shudder lightly in rhythm with the sound. "You Autobot make us Dinobots hurt less. Is time Dinobots return favor."

Swoop let out a happy little cry, and before Ratchet could have done anything, he leaned close and promptly kissed the medic. He was thinking along the same lines like his leader, and besides...the poor car-bot looked so tense, surely he could have done with a little relaxing. 

Snarl, who had less experience in the art of interfacing, flattened his hand out on the red belly adorned with the same emblem as theirs. Grimlock and Swoop has shown him the overload, but Snarl personally thought it was too much of a hassle and it was tiring. But the leader had spoken, and he was not above helping the tribe.

If there was some sort of protest from Ratchet, Grimlock didn't pay any attention—he focused on moving one hand over the medic's form, surprisingly gentle as he sought out any sensitive areas Ratchet might have, taking his time exploring every square inch of the medic's body. 

The poor medic was very close to squeaking rather un-dignified; but he caught himself in time and he grabbed the flier's shoulders to push him away. "Mmmf...W-wait! Stop!" His vents were cycling madly, and he was heating up—from the _panic_! Yeah. That. "Hey, mechs, slow down! You don't have to do this...and I don't even want it! I, uh, really...appreciate the thought, but it's...not done like this."

He swatted Snarl's hand away. Swoop tilted his head to the side. "But touches feel good. You healer not like?"

Ratchet was so very close to sputtering. "I don't—that's not it, it's just that—"

Grimlock rumbled again. In his optics, this was only a slight setback. "If you healer like touch, why healer say no?" 

"Because that's what the healer does...!" Nnno, this won't work. Ratchet glared at Snarl, who either didn't pay attention, or was a bit slow on the uptake and pushed the Dinobot's hand away again. "I mean...where we come from, we only touch those who we like very much. It doesn't feel good. I mean, it does, outside, but in the inside..." he tapped his chest, "It doesn't. I really appreciate your concern, but...I'd rather if you stopped."

Snarl proved that he was more stubborn than stupid. "Us Dinobots hurt healer...?" 

Grimlock seemed indifferent to Ratchet's protests. Nevertheless, he listened, though rather irritated. "You healer not like us Dinobots?" he growled. His tone couldn't help but be a little threatening, but that simply came with his size and the way that he always rumbled as he spoke. 

"It's...not that!" Ratchet protested. Damn, those optics the flier was giving him were starting to get the better of him. "I just...don't know you. You can't completely trust somebody if you don't know him, right...?"

Swoop's optics brightened. "Then, healer has to get know us Dinobots! Us Dinobots great team; you healer will feel good! Let us Dinobots make you know them."

Ratchet was having trouble fighting off the tingle in his arm, as the slender claws roamed over it. The old war-wound was especially sensitive, and his hands... After all, he used them a lot.

"I... shouldn't..."

The Rex caught on to the brilliant idea of observing as Ratchet shifted nervously—and pleasantly?—under the gentle scrapes and explorations of Swoop, and managed to grin wide as he realized that perhaps the healer's arms and hands were more sensitive.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice a deep purr as he reached down and mirrored Swoop's motions with thick, slow strokes of his fingers. "Us Dinobots not hurt healer. Make healer relax. You healer need it." 

_Oh dear Primus, why me, why me, why me..._? Ratchet whined inwardly, as the pleasant sensations assaulted his sensory grid. He indeed needed it...it had been so long he last enjoyed Ironhide's touches. It seemed almost _too_ long. And then, Swoop ran his glossa over the medic's fingers and Snarl started to fumble around the wheels on his legs and Grimlock—How could a mech of his size purr so deeply?!—Ratchet was lost. His optics flickered offline, and he couldn't help the small moan escaping his vocalizer. "Oookay... It'd be rude to brush off your gratitude, eh?" 

Grimlock's systems growled victoriously and he immediately became more enthusiastic in his touches. He leaned down to nuzzle Ratchet in a smug sort of thanks as he splayed his hands over the mech's form, always focusing at least one or two fingers on his arms and hands, brushing over delicate circuitry as he paid mind to the rest of Ratchet's sensors with his other hand.

 _If Prowl and Bulkhead come back and see me like this, my faceplates will melt off_ , Ratchet thought, but actually, he couldn't really bring himself to care. The attention, the three pairs of hands, all different in touch, the enthusiasm and skill were his undoing, chasing him into a haze of pleasure. He leaned his head back—it came to rest on something, probably Grimlock's mighty shoulder—exposing his throat, and he gasped as a slender claw began to trace the struts and cables there.

"Swoop feel healer's vocalizer," the flier chuckled, and tickled the spot, just to be rewarded with another moan—it was another of Ratchet's sensitive areas. Ironhide loved to nibble on that one back then. 

Grimlock observed everything his comrades did and especially Ratchet's reactions, optics flickering curiously with every moan and uttered sound. He reached up and pressed one finger against the other side of Ratchet's neck, providing a contrast to Swoop's lightly sweeping claws with firm presses and strokes from one of his own. There was nothing but open wonder in Grimlock's expression, perhaps flitted every so often by a displayed flash of arousal. The Autobot fascinated him, and he liked that he was able to show such thanks to the other with his fellow Dinobots.

The poor medic was melting inside. Half-consciously, he grabbed two of the stroking hands, to encourage them even further. The third was still busy exploring his nether regions, and Ratchet arched with a short cry, as the thick fingers brushed the line where his torso plating joined his pelvic unit.

" _Yes_ ," he hissed with delight. "That's it, younglings; you're good at this... Ooh, it feels nice, so nice." And the best thing was, he already did his fair share of the business—he could just lean back and enjoy all the attention.

Swoop liked this. The healer was making nicer sounds as the minutes passed; he was heated already, and besides, it wasn't a bad feeling to know his and his comrades could do this to somebody. He nuzzled the older mech's faceplates and continued playing with those white fingers.

Grimlock made a low thrumming sound, seemingly from the depths of his chassis as he detached his hand from Ratchet's to pay mind to other areas—going over the places his friends had already touched upon, golden claws stroking firmly yet gently, finding enjoyment in the way Ratchet heated under the combined effort of their touches and the pleasant moans he made. The compliments weren't unnoticed, either.

It sort of felt...like being young again. Ratchet smiled, as his processors screeched to a halt and the excess energy reached the point where it couldn't grow anymore; he let himself balance on the delicate edge, enjoying it thoroughly, then gave up and fell into the wonderful chaos of the overload. His back arched, his fingers tightened around the golden claws, and Ratchet overloaded with a strained, short yell, a tiny lightning arching over his frame. This was bliss. _Damn_ , he really needed it. 

The Dinobots all watched in their own form of awe as Ratchet overloaded. Grimlock grinned a big grin, which would have been scary if not given the present situation. His optics lit up and he hummed again, as he was pleased that the healer had enjoyed their thanks, and he had made an observation that he found he liked. "You healer make blue sparks like Swoop." He remembered overloading Snarl with the flier's help, but for some reason the triceratops didn't spark as much as the thinner Dinobot; his joints and some of his sensitive or less-guarded parts spat them out and crackled, but he didn't make huge shocks of lightning in his overload like Swoop and Ratchet did.

Ratchet groaned with delight and he flickered one optic online, smiling. "Okay, I have to admit... you three glitches did splendidly. I think even a few of my frozen routines rebooted." He patted Swoop's face and Grimlock's arm affectionately. "Thanks." 

Snarl shuffled closer, and the medic stroked his helm too, with a laugh. "Yes, you, too. When you poked around my waist... umm, yeah... That was good."

Swoop stretched and shook himself a bit. "Healer feel better," he announced. "Now me Swoop feel good, too." Indeed, seeing, hearing and to a degree, feeling another to overload sort of got him into the mood for a little fun as well.

Grimlock stuck his chest out a little proudly, giving a low grunt in agreement with Swoop's sentiments. He wondered if he could find one of the other car-bots and play with them for a while...maybe the green one. He seemed quite strong.

When his comrades moved away, Snarl shifted into beast-mode, and simply curled up against the healer. Ratchet smiled, and leaned halfway against the Dinobot; now, he needed to rest a bit. And maybe...hope for Ironhide to come, that he could truly, 100% appreciate the fact that he was built for overloads.


	19. Prehistoric Pleasures 02

Creepy. Truly creepy, this old research facility was. Especially at the lower levels, where Meltdown didn't bother to reinstall the lighting. It was dark here, and the air was damp, and there were weird sounds; dripping pipes, creaking metal, rats scurrying at Bulkhead's feet. The green giant couldn't surpass a shiver. But, he was not a coward, and he really wanted to make sure that no more of the crazy human...well, _humanoid_ scientist's pets lurked down here, so he advanced further inside. These parts of the corridors were surprisingly wide; he could move easily, and he'd have enough room to fight if the need arose. Bulkhead hoped it won't. He had this nagging suspicion that the monster would fight to death; and he actually...never killed anything—or anyone—before. 

As Bulkhead maneuvered the halls, the darkness persisted and the noises continued. The _drip-drip-drip_ of the pipes became commonplace and the echo of his clunky footsteps re-established the fact that there was nothing else down here; that he was alone, and that it was entirely possible there was nothing to find. After a few circles around in and out of the various hallways, combing the catacomb-like space through and through, Bulkhead began to relax. This wasn't so bad.

But then, his worst fears appeared to be coming true as a second set of footsteps thudded through the empty space—footsteps equally heavy as his, if not more, indicating his attacker was quite possibly boasting a lot of size and strength. 

The young wrecker clicked, then caught himself and toned down his vocalizer. Prowl always told him that one needed to be quiet around the enemy—the stealthy approach had many advantages, and Bulkhead found himself remembering everything the ninjabot had taught him. Quickly, he scanned the area for cover, and albeit it was not much, he eased himself into a corner, trying to blend into the shadows; stillness and strike. He readied the wrecking ball. Whatever was coming up, will have a nasty surprise. 

As the footsteps echoed closer, a low thrumming of system vents became present along with it—though, with this particular creature's size, it sounded more like a loud purr or a primal growl. The footsteps became uneven and broken in rhythm the closer the assailant approached, as if he were pausing every so often to look for something—probably Bulkhead.

It was by luck that the green wrecker spotted him when he did, as the big tall monster didn't have much color to him, and blended into the shadows better than he did. 

Bulkhead's eyes widened—that was something _huge_! And seemed ugly, too! His vents went crazy from the tension, humming louder and louder, his spark was throbbing in his chest. He had to attack, before that lumbering creature noticed him...! Almost against his will, the wrecking ball surged forth, aiming straight the monster's midsection. 

Blue optics widened at the approaching sound, but whatever was near didn't have a chance to dodge Bulkhead's wrecking ball, and was knocked clear across the hall. Slammed into one of the few patches of light, a pained snarl, bright yellow paint and an angry glare revealed the so-called monster: not one of Meltdown's science experiments gone wrong, but in fact Grimlock, who was none too happy about being assaulted. The attack had barely dented him, granted, but it was the act itself, not the damage done, that enraged him. 

"...Grimlock!" The young warrior cried out as he realized his mistake. He rushed to the Dinobot, checking on him nervously. "I didn't mean that! I thought you were one of Meltdown's monsters...! I'm sorry! Are you alright?" Oh, Primus, why couldn't he get anything right? Just once? Would that be too shameful a wish? 

The Rex-mech snarled at Bulkhead in response and went straight for the young green wrecker, clasping sharp bronze claws against Bulkhead's shoulders and swapping them so it was now Bulkhead shoved (rather painfully) up against the wall. "You Bulkhead not nice to Grimlock!" he snapped, practically roaring. 

"I'm sorry!" Bulkhead tried to get away—though, sort of half-heartedly. "I should have noticed that you were a mech... But I was sorta scared, and...I'm sorry...I screwed it up again..." It seemed he was destined to do that, again and again. 

Grimlock gave a low growl and leaned in, leering at Bulkhead with a very unpleasant expression. He flexed sharp claws into the wrecker's shoulders, simply staring him down for a while. "Me Grimlock not like being hit." He growled, boasting tribal authority, "But Grimlock forgive because you Bulkhead friend of Dinobots. You promise not to do again." 

"I promise," Bulkhead nodded easily. "I'm really, honestly sorry...I didn't want to hit you." He strained his optics a bit. "You don't seem to be too damaged... You have some tough armor there. You're a good warrior..." Why couldn't he be like that...? Of course, he was always trying to get it across that he had a softer side, too, not just the big hulking Bot who destroyed everything around him... Come to think of it, Grimlock was the first thing he couldn't actually damage, even though he tried. 

The earnest declaration, along with the compliment, seemed to appease the Dinobot leader almost immediately. He grinned smugly and his chassis swelled, expanding to suck in cool air against his warm inner systems. "Me Grimlock strongest Dinobot!" He bragged, optics flashing with pride. 

"Yeah," Bulkhead agreed, slumping back against the wall, sinking deeper into depression. "And you can just break what you want to, and nobody scolds you for it. I bet you'd be better off even in the city...and you don't give a damn about what others think, huh? You're just tough and mean. Sometimes I wish I could be like that." He poked his arm unhappily. 

Grimlock's mood sank a bit. He mellowed out, tilting his head in confusion. "Why you Bulkhead talk like that? You Bulkhead strong, too." 

"Yeah, so what? I'm strong, sure. But I'm always just breaking and smashing stuff and it gets me into trouble. People don't like me and they're afraid of me; they think I'm just that. A big damn green robot who destroys their city. I'm worse than a Decepticon." The young wrecker knew he was ranting and he didn't give a damn. He was a bit tired, and sort of ashamed, too...he went down so easily before Meltdown. He behaved like a Sparkling, stupidly rushing into trouble, even if he was angry and worried. He shouldn't have done that. He glanced up at the tall, finely crafted frame. Grimlock was a handsome mech on his own right, and he surely was a batter warrior. Bulkhead was...a menace. 

Rumbling, Grimlock pushed Bulkhead against the wall again, leaning down over him until the two of them were practically chest-to-chest. It was invasive and dominating, but seemed to lose some of its intimidating quality once the Dinobot actually spoke. "You Bulkhead think bad things. Too many bad things; not look at good things." 

Hmm, now actually, this was interesting. Bulkhead was used to be big; not many mechs were a match to his size. Right now, he shifted a bit, his insides growing warmer. There was something in the situation...a faint, underlying tension, warm and exciting. It was a very curious feeling. 

"I guess. I'm not good about thinking good things...I make too much bad. I bet your comrades like you better than mine like me." 

Grimlock grunted heavily. He really wasn't sure how to respond to that. To be honest, he still didn't like the rest of the Autobots out of the bunch...all two of them. But he sensed that there was _some_ companionship; at least between the small Prowl, the lumbering Bulkhead, and the healer, Ratchet. Grimlock respected that.

"You Bulkhead not give car-bots enough. Not think enough. Too stuck on bad things."

Suddenly, Bulkhead found himself staring up into a wide, feral grin, and a set of bronze claws scraped in long strokes over the inside of one scooped armor wing behind his shoulder. "But, if you Bulkhead _really_ want attention..." The tone was a low rumble, a very obvious demand for primal intimacy when combined with the scratch against Bulkhead's armor and the unrestrained, less-than-subtle push of energy. "Me Grimlock can give..." 

The green giant's jaw fell. His body understood the message immediately, but his head needed a few seconds to cope and that left him gaping at the Dinobot in utter confusion. "W-w-what...?" He sputtered. "You mean—" A pause. And then: "Primus..." Now that he caught up, Bulkhead felt his insides warming up rapidly. The other's energy flared against his most deliciously, and truth to be told...Bulkhead was very deprived. Since that one beautiful, world-shaking overload he got from his dearly beloved little friend, he only had one more—a short-lived rush of pleasure caused by a cold, lonely night and too much despair and yearning. The young warrior found the concept of self-service somewhat pointless in a way; after all, overload was done in company. He was well off without the surge; it was not a fierce craving, more like a melancholic longing for it.

But now it was freely, shamelessly offered, a wild passion throbbing against his chassis. Another mech's touch...golden claws on his jaw and neck... Even if it wasn't the one he truly wanted, perhaps it'll do. Bulkhead had a softer side; but he was always better showing off the tougher one. 

"Affection...?" He questioned slowly, relaxing against the wall. His optics had a very slightly calculating glint in them. 

Grimlock growled/purred, smirking and moving his claws to press against the back of Bulkhead's neck and against his chassis. "You Bulkhead understand," he stated, easily able to read the mech's reaction and draw a conclusion. 

"Nnnnh..." The young wrecker grunted as the claws slipped to his sensitive area, and he moved his head to the side. "I guess?" He drawled, and his huge gray fingers grabbed Grimlock's waist, firmly, but not firm enough to hurt. The Dinobot was pulled even closer, and Bulkhead shivered—having somebody in his arms who was unlikely to get crushed felt sort of intoxicating. This is how Bumblebee must have felt every time he embraced Prime. Having something sturdy and solid and warm against him...it was a nice feeling, both calming and exciting, and strangely secure. 

"You know about this...? Really? All the stuff about frying and the blue lightning...?" 

The Dinobot nodded firmly and his vents whirred again with excitement as he pressed and scratched his claws over Bulkhead's neck, discovering that it was sensitive to touch. "Swoop show me Grimlock, Swoop and Grimlock show Snarl. Touch feels good. Overload keep Dinobots warm when outside cold." He was very much enjoying being able to express this enjoyable feeling with someone who had as much strength as he. Although Grimlock never worried about breaking Swoop (he cared too much to even try), it was exhilarating—Grimlock got an ego boost, and had the pleasure of seeing another strong mech get locked into overload. The Rex-mech had a certain respect for Bulkhead because he seemed the greatest of the car-bots, even next to the blue and red one, at least in Grimlock's perspective. 

"It's always the little ones," Bulkhead mused with a small chuckle, then simply decided to go with the flow. He curled his arms around Grimlock's frame and began to seek out his hot spots. The large frame under his hands thrummed with energy—it was so lovely to feel it move. "You feel great against me," Bulkhead whispered, and shivered again as his spark churned with delighted embarrassment. It felt so... _weird_ to say out loud, but the same time, it was exciting to do so. 

"Where do you want me to touch?" Hey, if they were getting at it, there was no point in fumbling around too much. _Overload, here I come._

Grimlock growled pleasantly and bent down almost possessively over Bulkhead, pressing his strong, thick frame firmly against the other's when Bulkhead drew him in and allowed his hands to roam; though one always came back to Bulkhead's neck and, eventually, his jaw. "Grimlock's shoulders like touch...chest good, too."

The green giant moaned loudly, and pushed his head into the touch. Oh yes, his jaw. His circuits felt like crackling when the Dinobot stroked the large screw there. He tried hard to concentrate on his task, though; his large fingers mapped out the yellow chest, curiously marked with the Autobot insignia, and the broad shoulders too, and after a while, the 'wings' on Grimlock's back. 

"Y-yes, there, ooohh..." Bulkhead whimpered, grinding himself against the other. "More, please...!" It was coming, the final surge. The secondary processors screeched to a halt one by one, and the warnings told about overheating, excess energy building around the core steadily. 

Shuddering, the Rex-mech moaned in response, wings twitching when Bulkhead's thick fingers stroked over them. Grimlock pushed forward, beginning to crackle with built-up energy as he pressed his fingers a little more firmly on Bulkhead's neck and jaw, focusing much of his attentions there, and a little on the wrecker's wings, pushing him against the wall in a dominant fashion. He encouraged the young mech with growls and groans and snarls, optics narrowing, jaw clenching tightly as sparks crackled and snapped under Grimlock's armor, indicating just how much he was enjoying the attention. He didn't use words, only noises and body language. His wings quivered when they were being ignored, his chest swelled happily with each caress and his shoulders rolled forward to prompt further attentions, squaring away when he wanted Bulkhead's hands elsewhere.

It just felt so good, so right. Even if there was no all-yellow paintjob streaked with black, no cute little face and frail limbs...pleasure was the same and Grimlock was eager and warm and Bulkhead's hold tightened on him, to pull him close, closer, _Primus_...! The young wrecker's vents shrieked, the air trembling around them, drops of coolant beading on his armor. His spark was trashing in its casing, wantonly clawing at the barriers shielding it.

"G-Grimlock, yes...Grim—Aaah...aaah...!" His back arched, and Bulkhead's outer energy fields flared, the tension releasing in a powerful wave; even his spark lashed out, its energy seeping through the armor seams.

As Bulkhead reached his climax, his energy field was answered by a mirroring flare from Grimlock's; it didn't take much more than that to push the Dinobot over the edge, and he practically shoved himself against Bulkhead as he arched in overload, hissing through his vents as they skipped several intakes and his spark screeched against its casing. Grimlock practically roared, his deep voice bellowing in a heavy echo off the widely-spaced walls.

A few minutes passed while processors rebooted, and the ventilation system quieted, having managed to suck enough fresh air in to cool the heated insides. Bulkhead let out a long whirr, shifting a bit; he guessed that his finish was scratched, but he didn't really care. His spark was sated, his body felt refreshed; he was feeling much better altogether. 

"Grimlock..." Bulkhead smiled, an honest and open expression on his faceplates. "Thanks."

After calming down a little, the Dinobot grinned wide. "You Bulkhead feel better now. Make Grimlock happy." 

The green giant chuckled. "Yep...I do. Hey, let's go back. We don't want to others worry, huh?" He shuffled to his feet.

Well, no monsters here...quite on the contrary.


	20. Prehistoric Pleasures 03

Nothing to be found here; Prowl had checked the forest three times over, just to be sure. Actually, he had found a couple of odd little stragglers, perhaps some animals Meltdown had experimented on—the poor things—Prowl put them out of their misery quickly. But now that he'd euthanized those last few of the mutated creatures, there was nothing to be found, and Prowl took one last sweep over an area before deciding that it was time enough he turned back. Bulkhead was probably done with the underground sections by now; he'd cleared everything above. Hopefully Ratchet wouldn't grouse too much about the length of time that it took for a simple sweep. 

He shifted to his alt-mode and raced out, knowing well which way will be the shortest. After a while, though, he noticed something... A shadow was following him, keeping up with his speed, sometimes lining up, then falling back, as if playing an odd, lighthearted game of tag. Birds wouldn't do that. 

By no difficult guess, Prowl assumed it to be Swoop. But what could the Dinobot want with him that would cause this playful behavior? Not that Prowl minded...he liked the Dinobots, and saw himself sort of as their protector. Curious to get an answer out of the pterodactyl, Prowl slowed his speed a bit and began playing the game right back, doing a few loops around the wooded area while Swoop continued to follow, up until he cut his speed and transformed, standing in place.

Prowl craned his gaze up at the sky. "Alright, I know you're up there," he said, nothing condescending in his voice. "What is it? Come down and talk to me." 

The flier apparently caught the request, because he came down with a breakneck speed, displaying a remarkable maneuvering and navigating ability. He landed in front of Prowl in a crouch, then transformed and straightened gracefully. Swoop was similarly slender as the ninjabot, and apparently could carry himself with the same pride if he put an effort into it. He looked at the Autobot, head slightly tilted sideways, and a small smile was playing on his faceplates.

"You Autobot good rider," he said evenly, merely stating the fact. He walked a bit closer, his wings moving gently behind him. 

Prowl smirked lightly, admittedly flattered by the compliment. "I've had practice," he replied modestly, watching the flier's movements as he approached. Prowl wasn't sure, but...there was something different in the way Swoop was moving. He swayed, almost, in his own characteristic manner. 

"Us Dinobots thank you Prowl and them Bulkhead and Ratchet," Swoop said, drawing even closer, only a step away from the ninjabot. "Healer fixed us Dinobots, wounds are well now. You car-bots caught Meltdown. You did good job." The praise came easily; Swoop had watched the slender black Autobot before, from the corner of his optics. Prowl was so alike him—slender, seemingly fragile almost, but strong. He was a true warrior, a beautiful hunter, and his lethal grace appealed to the flier. Sure, Grimlock was amazing with his broad chassis, his overpowering strength and his strong arms and bellowing voice, but... Prowl was sleek and smooth, and right now, Swoop felt drawn by that dark, dangerous calmness oozing from him. Prowl was a beautiful stranger; a treat to enjoy because it was fleeting. 

"Us Dinobots already thanked him healer; him Grimlock went after him Bulkhead to thank. Now Swoop came after you Prowl." He ended the sentence with a little purr. 

That purr gave Prowl a deeper suspicion about the flier's intentions. Why would they separately seek out him and Bulkhead after thanking Ratchet? Couldn't they just wait until all of them were present?

"You're...welcome," said the slender mech carefully, scrutinizing Swoop's behavior. He was beginning to get a feeling of what the flier meant, but he wasn't sure what to think of it, and by default assumed he was being paranoid. Because last he checked, they didn't know anything about that sort of thing—right?

The flier closed the remaining distance between them, placing a clawed hand on the black chest. Prowl knew in an instant that he had a right to be paranoid; the Dinobots energy fields were flaring, vibrating eagerly. Apparently, he was in a state of arousal.

"You Prowl seem too slender to be warrior... But you Prowl good fighter. Hold ground against us Dinobots. Me Swoop like strong warriors." 

Prowl reeled, mentally—Swoop's energy practically swallowed him whole. Nothing but raw desire and arousal, an open _demand_ to be satisfied not at all pressing, but still very sudden. His vents skipped a cycle and he hissed on a particularly sharp intake, trying to think of an adequate response.

"Th—Thank you—really. Ah...that's fine...I appreciate the thanks..." gently, he had to put him down gently, "...But this is...ah...rather...unnecessary." 

Swoop chucked. The sound was a bit hoarse, but still amazingly soft. "Him Ratchet said the same," He nodded. "Him healer said no, no, but chassis said yes. Him Ratchet all better now." He curled his arms around Prowl's waist, gazing at him with burning optics. "Me Swoop knows: you Prowl not know Dinobots. So let me Swoop make you Prowl know. You Prowl beautiful hunter, but tense like him healer. Overload will do good." He quickly, briefly touched his lips against the ninjabot's. "Him Ratchet sounded nice...me Swoop got all warm watching him." 

The bike mech tensed greatly and had half a mind to draw away at the kiss, but at the same time, Swoop had a way of drawing him in. There was a long silence while Prowl weighed his options. On the one hand, it really, _really_ wasn't smart to do something like this, and wasn't really approving in their culture...on the other hand, he _really_ wasn't all too disapproving himself...and Swoop's slight frame and gentle come-ons reminded him of a certain mech that he was still left aching horribly for all this time.

Well, that settled it quick. Prowl's vents heaved a heavy sigh and he digressed, reaching up to cup his hands against Swoop's face frame. "You learn too fast for your own good," he said wistfully.

Swoop purred again, leaning into the golden hand, though with a slightly puzzled look. He couldn't really catch what the hunter meant by that; but he deemed it unimportant. "Him Ratchet protested more," he mentioned, tightening his hold around Prowl's waist, pressing his front closer to him. "But me Swoop don't mind not protesting. Me Swoop happy that you Prowl agrees. Him Grimlock big and strong, all warm and hard and commanding...you Prowl different."

"You happen to remind me a little of someone..." Prowl murmured under his breath. He added on, smiling a bit, "And I have a feeling my protesting wouldn't do much to stop you. Am I right?" He reached up to pet Swoop's red crest affectionately.

The motion earned him a delighted hiss, a loud hum of vents. The flier tilted his head back, and his golden claws began to skim Prowl's back plating. "No...me Swoop want you Prowl. Want to overload with you Prowl. Want to know if it's different from overload with him Grimlock."

Shuddering and giving in to the searing waves of arousal and the exploring scrapes to his back, Prowl hummed and leaned against the Dinobot a little. "I think we can arrange that," he said quietly. He gave a few more long strokes to Swoop's crest, one hand moving back to give gentle-firm attentions to the edges of his wings, being cautious to avoid the patches that Ratchet had worked to fix earlier.

The Dinobot let out a squeal from pleasure and he draped himself over the ninjabot, claws sliding on the black and golden frame furiously. The tips of them found every thin seam and every tiny gap and eventually moved to the shoulder-armors, mapping the inside of the gently arching pieces. Swoop's fields seemed to get more and more intense by the minute; thy clashed with Prowl's, creating a unique, sensual vibration.

Prowl arched, the swept-back armor on his shoulders twitching lightly under Swoop's touch as it elicited a low moan. His venting systems were already kicking into high gear as wave after wave of raw energy poured against his own, and Prowl found it difficult not to be sucked into the same state of mind—pushing back for every wave the same heat and need, bit for bit. He felt a little guilty; he really should learn some better restraint than this. Still, Swoop was young and curious, and obviously knew more than Prowl initially thought. He was curious enough himself to indulge Swoop's wonders for a moment...he owed the flier that much, at least.

"Nnn...yes, there, that's good..." Prowl pulled Swoop more firmly against him, to put more pressure on his front plate and grind slowly against the other's. He kept his attentions up on the Dinobot's wings, petting the span of them and running his thumb along the edges, moaning again as heat spider-crawled through his circuitry.

The flier laughed a little, between small moans and gasps, and finally crashed his lips against Prowl's, silvery glossa invading the small space, making the energy fields crackle there. One slender thigh forced itself between the ninjabot's, and the delicate wing quivered beneath the golden fingers.

"You Prowl has nice voice," Swoop crooned in a momentary pause of his passionate kisses. Him Grimlock's voice pushes Swoop back and holds firm...you Prowl's sneak into frame, filling it up."

A startled but accepting groan was Swoop's response as Prowl froze for a moment, taken briefly off-guard by the thigh pressing between his own. He was easily distracted by the hard kisses and slick silver glossa against his own, and the murmurs of the flier as he spoke. Prowl chuckled lightly between moans and ran a palm flat over Swoop's crest. "I'm not surprised," he replied. It would make sense that Grimlock's energies were firm and dominating...that was just who he was.

"Would you Prowl let me Swoop push you back? Pin you down?" The flier's bright optics were curious and calculating. 

That didn't take much thought for the Autobot. He could feel his legs threatening to give out within a cycle or two. Prowl nodded his head.

The bright optics flashed, and with surprising gentleness, the clawed hands fastened on Prowl's armor and dragged him down, to lie on the soft grass in the shade of a tree. The late autumn's pale sunlight drew patterns on his frame as he was laid out on his back, and Swoop's slaws traced them for a little bit before he leaned down and kissed the ninjabot again. He straddled Prowl, pelvic armor pressed against his; Swoop leaned on one clawed hand, while the other continued tracing the shoulder pieces.

"Me Swoop want to hear you Prowl's voice more..." the flier crooned quietly.

Not being one to deny the Dinobot, Prowl gave another shudder and a moan as those golden claws traced patterns over his armor. He lifted his hips slightly, reaching up to tug Swoop down a little by his crest and give it a few more long strokes, letting it follow over the top and then underneath, down the flier's spine to the sweep of his wings. He encouraged Swoop with every moan and hitched intake of his systems, pressing a kiss or two on the flier's lips, causing some of the sounds to crackle through the mingled energies.

And the act progressed from there, gaining speed an intensity; soon, the two mechs' glossas were practically entwined, teasing, stroking, swirling the charge. The flier jerked his hips forward, grinding his plating against Prowl's, because he noticed what an effect it had on the stoic Bot. Swoop didn't restrain his vocalizer, he moaned loudly, shamelessly; his vents were cycling madly, desperately trying to get more air to the blazing internals. Circuits sizzled, joints spat sparks; overload was close, very close. 

The more Swoop did the more Prowl responded, and as the touches and strokes escalated to firm caresses and grinds, Prowl's systems heated up and the vents couldn't keep their cycles fast enough. He sparked and crackled, a few blue jolts of lightning dancing between him and Swoop as they both began to reach their peak; the ninjabot left squirming restlessly on the forest floor emitting low moans and cries while Swoop's all but drowned his out. Hissing as his spark shuddered in its casing, Prowl succumbed first to the sweet wave of overload—lightning shooting from the seams of his armor as he cried out, systems halting for a moment long enough to fry from helm to feet before picking up their frantic rhythm again.

Swoop's frame arched back, his claws scratching the black finish as they curled convulsively. The tell-tale blue lightning arched over him and his pleasure-filled screech scared up birds on the nearby trees. For a few moments, he remained like that, then slumped forward heavily, letting his vents work and the dizziness pass; then simply sprawled out on top of Prowl, snuggling close, and purring contentedly. 

Prowl wound an arm around Swoop's middle, sighing heavily as he waited for his systems to come back down to normal readings. He certainly felt _thanked_ , if nothing else. He wondered how Swoop had ever come across the act of overload...but then, likely the Dinobots discovered it through their own means. It wasn't harmful at all, so there was no need to worry. Prowl hoped they wouldn't thank them like this _every_ time they lent their assistance, though--once was wonderful enough, and Ratchet might complain.

"...You did well, Swoop," the ninjabot praised, giving Swoop's crest one more brief stroke as his systems finally began to cool. Yes, he did right in rescuing these mechs. Prowl could tell they would turn out just fine.

"Swoop always does well..." the flier had an inappropriately smug smirk on his faceplate. He stole another quick kiss then climbed off the ninjabot, to stretch his frame, every strut and wire inside. He shook himself then glanced at Prowl. "Now car-bots can go; Dinobots thanked them. Us even."

Prowl chuckled, pushing himself to stand as well. "That's good. Perhaps we'll come to visit in the future," he promised. "If...that's alright with you three..."

Swoop appeared to be thinking. By now, all the arousal's softness was gone; he was the dangerous tribal warrior again, firm and independent. "This Dinobots' island," he stated. "You Prowl and him Bulkhead and healer can come. No others."

Prowl wasn't sure what to do with that for a moment. He knew he would have to tell Prime eventually...still...there was no need for it now, and maybe, if he got lucky, there would never be a reason to tell.

The ninjabot nodded his head. "I understand."

The flier nodded as well, and smiled. "Him Bulkhead and healer wait for you Prowl for sure. Let's go back."


	21. Catch You, Catch Me

The engineer felt his systems wailing from the exhaustion. He was not designed to race, slaggit! Who was that other mech behind him, anyway—steadily closing up, after he made Wheeljack jump and flee with a few well-aimed shots? A Decepticon...? No, that couldn't be. They were driven away long ago, hiding ever since the Great War ended...but why was he shooting? As far as Wheeljack could remember, he had no enemies... Well, okay, actually, the repair bills totaled up quite nicely by now, but come on, science needed a few sacrifices! It wasn’t the Kalis Science Academy's style to _shoot_ their own; no matter how much damage they made...was it...?

Wheeljack steered clear of another obstacle in his way. A little more and they'll be out of the city. Where was the security force when he needed them? 

Unfortunately for Wheeljack, getting outside of the city would only put him at more of an advantage for his pursuer. Really, where was the fun...? This hunt was somewhat interesting, but, the mech wasn't much of a fighter. Feh—he was a scientist. Rarely were those types fitted as fighters.

Lockdown supposed that he would simply have to capture the mech and get it over with. He could sense that—what was his name?—Wheeljack was slowing down, vents straining from the long run. He had to give the mech some credit, as he'd managed to keep out of Lockdown's grasp for a while, but...everyone tired out sometime.

He was closing in now, skyscrapers thinning to small homes to stone, society becoming sketchier until entirely nonexistent. Lockdown was so close that he could hear the other mech's vents hissing and trying to keep up with the activity to no avail. It was close enough... with a smirk, Lockdown took a final shot, clipping the mech in his tailgate. He wouldn't be able to run, now.

"You can run all you like," he chuckled, approaching his prey. "I _always_ catch my target, eventually." 

The what—? The light-colored engineer cried out as the hit landed on his tailgate, making him swerve and stumble on the ground as he changed into robot mode. "Okay, what's the big deal?!" He inquired, trying to get behind cover. "I haven't blown up the labs since at least five orns!" 

"Whether or not you've blown up any labs doesn't concern me," Lockdown replied, transforming from his giant muscle-car form to tower over Wheeljack, powering up the EMP generator mounted on his arm with a smirk. "I'm just here to pick you up for someone else." He stomped a foot down on the mech's chest, to keep him from escaping. 

"S-someone else...?" Wheeljack's optics widened and his headfins flickered from confusion. "What do you mean? I don't have business with anybody else, and besides, the shooting was completely unnecessary—" 

Lockdown didn't waste words on the mech. Instead he flipped the EMP generator up to a suitable level, and let it loose on Wheeljack—the shock would put him out painfully, but it would get the job done.

At first glance, he didn't seem to have anything on him worth taking as a trophy, but Lockdown would save that judgment for later. He would have plenty of time to look for something while the mech was out cold.

Once back in his lair, he tied the engineer down properly, and started to scan his systems. Tools, tools, more tools, welder, screwdriver...a few blades too weak to be used as a weapon, little storage spaces filled with junk... _honestly_ , scientists were such packrats, keeping every slagging singed wire end. Lockdown was about to give up, when the scanners suddenly caught up on something. He had to lean closer to double-check the data on the screen.

The engineer was packing a brand new weapon in his shoulder area. Lockdown had never seen anything like that before. It was a magnetic inducer, small but powerful, a real jewel. And fully unauthorized, there was no doubt about it.

"Jackpot," Lockdown murmured, chuckling. "That will do quite _nicely_." A device that could generate magnetic fields would be just as useful, if not more so, than the EMP device he had snitched off that sad old medic bot from years past. The things he could do with a magnetic inducer...Lockdown got the chills just thinking about it. It would make the hunts so much more _exciting_.

He swapped one of his hands out for a tool, something else he had also gotten off a previous target, and chipped away at Wheeljack's shoulder compartment while the mech was still under. If he were awake, he would be in quite a lot of pain...but even so, when he woke, the after-effects of the invasion would probably give him a satisfying throbbing ache.

After some effort, Lockdown struck gold, and a wicked sneer plastering itself on his face. Contrary to how he had treated Wheeljack's shoulder, he took the item out of its compartment delicately, holding it up in his hands like a thing to be revered. His vents sighed with pure delight, optics bright and wicked.

"Hello, beautiful." 

"Morning, lovely," Wheeljack mumbled. He was just coming online, processors still in a daze from the electro-magnetic stun and the throbbing pain. "Owww... Shouldn't drink so much energon when I can't hold it, I ache all over..." 

An irritated sneer, “I _wasn’t_ talking to y—” Lockdown turned his head to find the scientist coming to. He smiled wide. "Ah, you're awake," he purred, stepping over to meet the bound mech. "Perfect timing. I have a few questions for you."

"Ah—what...?" The engineer's optics widened again, headfins flashing. "What's this all about? Who are you anyway? Release me!" He was panicking. He was not used to this! Dressing down, sure, he could deal with that, but physical violence and restraints? He tried the ropes. They did not yield, not even a bit. Wheeljack trained his sensors on them to analyze the material and he was left gaping at the realization. Those things were not used by civilians, aside maybe building crews...

"Struggling won't get you anywhere... _Wheeljack_ , was it?" Lockdown chuckled. "I'm afraid I'm not very good with names. But, this will make a lovely little reminder." He held out the magnetic inducer, waving it in front of Wheeljack's face. "Thanks for the present." 

The headfins flashed in pink from the embarrassment. "Y—you came for those...? I-I, umm, I can explain...!" He was not authorized to have weaponry on his own. Many of his companions called him a weirdo and much worse things for his passion for weapons and explosions. They accused Wheeljack that if he could, he'd start a new war just to test his new gadgets...which was not true. Though, the engineer would have admitted that he was a warrior deep inside his spark...somewhere right behind the passionate scientist. 

"Relax, I'm not going to report this to anybody," Lockdown replied with a smirk, tapping the inducer and drawing it back towards himself. "No, this is something best kept to myself." he paused—then his optics lit up.

"Ah, I suppose I never introduced myself. My name is Lockdown. I'm what you call a bounty hunter." 

"A bounty—but Autobots never—" The blue optics grew impossibly wide. "You work for the Decepticons..." That was bad news; very bad news. Though, what did the Cons want from him...? Surely, he was not _that_ famous an engineer...or was he...? The thought was flattering, but... "What do they want from me?" 

Lockdown shrugged. "That's of no concern to me. All I know is that they're paying me quite handsomely for my services," his lips peeled back in a sadistic smile, "And I get to keep this lovely invention of yours for myself, as well." He held it out again, stroking it with one thumb. "A magnetic inducer, isn't it? Nothing like it on Cybertron or anywhere else, I suspect. You must have worked hard on it." 

"Well, yes, and I think it came out lovely, though—" 

Wheeljack was interrupted by the bleeping of the communications panels of Lockdown's ship, signaling an incoming message. Lockdown suppressed a grumble, faceplates tightening into a frown. He leered sideways at the panels before strolling over, pocketing the magnetic inducer behind him and pressing a button to open up communications.

"Yes, what is it now? I have that mech you asked me for earlier." 

"Splendid." The monotone voice, void of emotions echoed in the room. "Deliver him at the meeting point, and one of our agents will hand over your payment. You will not be disappointed. However, we also have another mission for you—I think you'll find it suitable to accept. Of course, the payment will again suit your efforts."

Another mission already...? Lockdown quirked an optic ridge, "That was fast," he commented, though he didn't argue the point. Yet another hunt so readily available was quite a blessing. Often, orns could pass by before he had another decent job. "Who is it this time?" 

"A young Autobot leader in a faraway sector..." The hexagon-faced mech on the screen gave the coordinates. In the background, on the table, Wheeljack sharpened his audios and made sure the information is safely stored in his databanks. Who knows; maybe it would come handy later. "...We are quite eager to have him. He is also commanding a small unit. You can capture them as you see fit, and take as many upgrades as you want—we will pay a small prize for them, but your main target is Optimus Prime. Here are his data files. You are to be deliver him _functional_." The stress on the last word was practically adding "but not necessarily intact."

"Functional I can do," Lockdown replied with a smirk. "I'll be at the meeting point within the megacycle. And, Shockwave..." Lockdown gave a mock salute, saying on a particularly creepy note, "A pleasure doing business with you."

He then cut the communication line, screen going blank, and turned back to Wheeljack. "Now, where were we...?"

"You were leering at my magnetic inducer," Wheeljack replied readily. "So, you're taking parts from the bots you capture? That's just disgusting. However, I see you have snatched quite a few neat things..." He turned his head around with some trouble, to take in all the shelves on which, the different parts were piling up. "Is that a holographic cloaking device? And that acid pellet gun looks awesome—"

"Flattery doesn't get you anywhere, either." Lockdown held up the magnetic inducer as he began to install it into one of his arms. "I want you to tell me how this works, _Wheeljack_." 

"It drives the energy from your supply system, so it won't really tire you, but might let you a bit vulnerable at times," the engineer explained. "The aim software and the neuro-connection establishing code lines are currently installed on a memory chip and it's in the back of the gun, I thought it'd be better to keep it like this, so it'll mach everybody, but I don't know, sometimes the outsourcing makes it a bit sluggish... You can regulate the intensity through the neuro-connection. It _should_ generate quite powerful fields, but I really have to warn you, it was not yet properly tested..." 

Lockdown waved the scientist off dismissively, working to set the code lines and connections to match his frequency. "Fascinating. I suppose, if it really does drain me that much, I'll have to use it sparingly..." he smiled wide. "I'll have to save this toy for the _fun_ hunts." 

"Be sure to try it out before you use it," Wheeljack warned.

Lockdown quirked an optic ridge at Wheeljack's suggestion, optics narrowing. Now, why would the little glitch be so eager for him to test out his new trophy...?

Well, whatever. It was in his possession now, and frankly, he really was just _itching_ to try it out. He grinned wide. "Thanks. I think I will." Lockdown glanced about the testing room, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Now, what could I test it on...?" After some searching, Lockdown found a particularly impressive trophy that he had hanging from the ceiling near the entryway—it was a custom-built pistol for an Elite guard that packed quite a punch when it was set on the custom mode. That would do nicely.

Lockdown raised the magnetic inducer, aiming it at the pistol and intending to pull it forward to him—or at least down from the ceiling. "Now then, let's see what your precious little toy can do." 

Lockdown activated the magnetic inducer, concentrating it to focus on the pistol—the air rippled with the field it produced, and the weapon detached from its hold on the wall, snapping over towards the bounty hunter, who was beaming with pride all the while. What a useful little device!

“Excellent! It works!”

Unfortunately, as Lockdown grabbed the pistol, laughing and gloating, he missed the flashing orange light on the back of the magnetic inducer. It blinked slowly at first, then faster and faster...

Lockdown went from a proud standing hunter to a seizing mass of scrap on the floor in less than a second, a clipped wail of agony slipping through the static. "You...LIED...to ME...!!" 

"I did not!" Wheeljack pouted cutely, and promptly whipped out his welder, aiming it at the ropes holding him. "I _did_ want it to suit everybody... But, what can I do? My colleagues often play pranks on me, and what if the military finds out that I have it? I wanted them to have a nasty little surprise if they try it out...near instant processor scrambling."

While he talked, the heat from the welder made the ropes glow at one point. Heat alone would not damage the restrains, Wheeljack knew it, but it made easier to cut them, even with his engineer tools. It was certainly not a quick process, but he was a patient mech, and until the gun wasn't disconnected from Lockdown, he didn't need to worry about the bounty hunter coming around functionally.

Lockdown was barely able to talk, much less move besides every twitch and jerk of his systems—he attempted several times to try and remove the weapon, but he could get his body to listen to him long enough to actually pull it off. Whenever he could manage something through the static in his vocals and the pain in his processors, it was an angry hiss or snarl. He wasn't pleased about being _lied_ to (because that's exactly what the frag it was, no matter what that glitching crazy scientist told him), and he was even less pleased about being unable to function without screwing up half his processors, which were already scrambled enough with that blasted magnet inducer on his arm. 

With patience, a few minutes later, Wheeljack climbed off the table, and crouched down next to the bounty hunter, affectionately patting his shoulders. "Well, it's been nice talking to you. Really, I'm so happy to leave that little gem for you, and I'll even get you a few precious guests: the Kalis Security Force. Have a wonderful day, Lockdown."

With a mischievous chuckle, the engineer ran off, transforming into vehicle mode and heading straight to the inner part of the city. The Supreme Command needed to know that the Decepticons were up to something and that young mech—Optimus—surely needed a little help if the enemy had its sight on him. 

Slaggit all to the Pit—! That _loudmouthed little glitch_! Lockdown snarled, his systems still seizing and making him writhe on the floor. He cried out in rage both during and after Wheeljack whittled his way out of the restraints and darted out of the room. Revealing him to the police? Lockdown wouldn't have it!

It was painful, but he tried again; tried to remove that damned inducer from his arm. His servos twitched and jerked with each push, his optics and audios were riddled with static. It hurt to concentrate, it hurt to be _awake_. Lockdown's systems were trying to force him into emergency stasis, and it was taking all the willpower he had to keep himself online.

At last, he managed to grasp the magnetic inducer, and after another long agonizing attempt, tore it (painfully, once again) from his arm. Once rid of it, Lockdown flung it halfway across the room like it was poisonous. His cooling systems sucked in cold air and spat out steam and his processors worked in overtime trying to get back in working order. The bounty hunter, still trembling from the scramble, hurried to the control board, and began punching in a number of codes.

"No...fragging _way_...in the _Pit_ am I...gonna let...some stinking officers _catch_ me," he hissed. 

It took some time to the engineer to get his point across, so the Security arrived late; Lockdown was nowhere to be found once they arrived, although they managed to catch traces of his ship, which proved that Wheeljack told the truth. A few cycles later, the Supreme Command got the report, and Ultra Magnus thanked the engineer personally for the valuable information. 

They had been looking for that Autobot for quite some time now...


	22. Higher Calling 01

One of his classmates nudged him in the side. "Sit _still_ , would you? Stop fidgeting!"

Hot Rod couldn't hold back the impatient whimper that escaped, his fingers twiddling in his lap. "I can't help it. I'm too excited!"

Anima, a femme student, rolled her optics with a chuckle. "Can't you save your excitement for when they call you up? You're making me nervous."

"I _am_ saving my excitement," Hot Rod grumbled, blue optics glued up front. "That's what's got me so worked up." Two of the Elite's best soldiers, Jazz and Sentinel Prime, had just finished hanging a graduation medal around another mech's neck, and sent them on their way. They didn't get an Elitist's badge—good news for Hot Rod. Only the four best students were picked from each graduating class to become new additions to Cybertron's Elite Guard; it was an opportunity every mech and femme in Iacon Academy strived for. Three badges had been given away already; Hot Rod had been counting. Only one slot left. Who would was it reserved for?

To get his mind off the situation, the crimson-headed young mech turned to his femme companion, twisting silver fingers together, arms placed rigidly in his lap. Bright yellow flames burst over his orange chassis, reaching back to a set of yellow doorwings on his back. "Hey," he whispered as they called another graduate, "Isn't Ultra Magnus supposed to show up for this?"

"Please, Hot Rod. You can't expect the Commander to show up at every single graduation from the Academy. He's a busy mech."

"Yeah, but..." Hot Rod sighed—was that a pout on his face?—he'd been looking forward to seeing the Commander himself, up in front, giving the honors of graduation. He was...well...he was the _Commander_. How cool would it be to be acknowledged into the Elite by the very one who would be leading him?

Anima peered sideways at Hot Rod, and a wide grin spread over her faceplates. "But you wanted a chance to be graduated by your _shining hero_ , didn't you?" she teased.

Hot Rod almost cried out in the middle of the ceremony, but clipped his vocals off before that could happen. That would be utterly embarrassing. Anima giggled. "Relax, Hot Rod. You won't know what happens until you get up there. Until then, just _sit still_ and bear with the roll call." 

Up on the stage, another cadet received a medal and a hurried glance from Sentinel, rudely shooing him on his way. Jazz smiled, and glanced at his data pad. He called out the next name, and watched as the young mech climbed up to them, optics wavering from nervousness. They were all the same...as if the medal would be a booster, to ground their belief in themselves and their excellent abilities. Iacon only released the best. 

He flashed a warm smile at the youngster and shook his hand, then looked into the data pad again. Ooh, look at that, the fourth candidate...! But, didn't ol' Magnus want to—

The hissing of the door snapped him out of his line of thoughts, and as he looked up, he nearly dropped the pad. 

"High Commander Ultra Magnus, sir!"

The entire room jumped up as one, saluting firmly as the Leader of the Autobot High Command walked up to the stage. He cleared his vocalizer, and made a gentle gesture with his hand. "Please, forgive me being late. I planned to be present on the entire ceremony, but I was... held up. Please, take a seat, and I apologize to the three Elite candidates for not being able to greet them personally. Hereby, I'd like to congratulate to their excellent progress, and I hope, we'll meet soon, at the command Central's training grounds." He nodded, and then turned, saluting to his officers. "Sentinel, Jazz... Please, continue." 

He stood back, in a relaxed pose, his hands locked behind his back—such a beautiful, regal mech, even though he was past his shining youth. It was surely the wisdom, which lingered around him like a powerful aura, which made him look so strong and majestic.

Hot Rod watched him all the while, optics wide and bright. He was here; he was really here! Now there was _no chance_ of him being able to sit still, and as everyone sank back into their seats, it was all Hot Rod could do to force himself back down.

Anima cast him a grin. "And how do you feel now?"

"...I'm scared to go up there," Hot Rod mumbled, almost complaining.

"Hot Rod!" called Jazz. Hot Rod froze, forgetting how to move until Anima shoved him to his feet, making him clip back a startled yelp.

"Too late for second thoughts; go, go, go!"

It was too late for second thoughts. Everyone had their eyes on him now, and Hot Rod couldn't possibly sit back down. Faceplates heating profusely, he shuffled nervously out of the aisle before he pushed his chest out a bit, trying to act normal. He walked straight, kept his eyes ahead and walked the gauntlet of the aisle. The steps were counted under his feet. He reached the front of the room. Everything slowed to a paradoxical blur, robbing Hot Rod even of the will to be nervous. He felt nothing anymore past the anticipation of that medal around his neck—and maybe an Elitist badge...could he possibly be that final slot...? No, no. Best not get one's hopes too high. _Just focus on the medal for now_. 

And then, everything shattered around him. The majestic form moved forward from the background, taking Jazz's place in front of the young mech. Bright, strict optics locked with Hot Rod's; and the voice, so used to command Autobot armies, which could open or cease fire, which sentenced Decepticons to death...sounded astonishingly soft. 

"Cadet Hot Rod...we all know about your perfect grades, your determination and valiant behavior. You were an exceptional young soldier all through your Academy days, excelling both physically and mentally. Therefore, it is an honor to be able to personally award you with the badge of the upcoming Elite Guards." The shining piece of metal attached easily to the flame-decorated chest. "This is praise and a promise; and a great responsibility. We expect you to serve even better as a Guard on training; there is only one way to drop out from the lines and still retain one's honor. I hope it will never come to that, for you are a promising young mech. We need you and your companions to keep peace on our beloved home planet. "Congratulations, Hot Rod—and welcome in the likes of the Elite Guard Cadets."

Sentinel rolled his eyes at one point during the speech, at which Jazz shot him a warning leer to behave. A blue hand was held out toward the youngling, and in the background, the crowd was cheering.

Hot Rod forgot how to move again, a wave of euphoria crashing into him. Words could not describe how he felt. His vocals failed him, but he tried so hard to say thank you, to say what an honor it was to be chosen—thankfully, the stuttering clicks that sputtered out instead were covered sufficiently by the cheering of the other graduates, and he settled for a beaming smile as he shook the Commander's hand, saluting him when Ultra Magnus did so first, and took his seat next to Anima again—with a badge on his chest and a medal around his neck. She grinned wide at him.

"Congratulations," was all she said, knowing how important this was to Hot Rod. He smiled sheepishly, saying to her what he couldn't to his Commander. "Thank you."


	23. Higher Calling  02

"‘Held up’?"

Ultra Magnus took a sip from his cube and peered at Sentinel over it. "Yes."

Sentinel opened his mouth to back-talk. "S’ reasonable," Jazz waved his hand dismissively, cutting the Prime’s arguments short. "So what was it all 'bout? ‘Cause I know ya—ya wanted somethin', that's why ya were so fashionably late. Out with it, what were ya plannin'?"

Ultra Magnus glanced at his lieutenant, "I was held up with good reason. They found Optimus."

"What?!" Sentinel’s eyes widened in shock, and Jazz's visor flared up with bright intensity. Consciously, Sentinel lowered his volume. "They found _Optimus Prime_? That clumsy Academy flunky that was carrying the Allspark?!”

"Rather, they managed to narrow down the circle of the search," Magnus corrected. "From now on, it won't take long until they can locate the Allspark's signal, no matter how well it might be concealed. When that time comes, we'll dispatch a troop to go after them, and retrieve them. I'm thinking about leading the team myself; both of you will come with me."

Though reluctant, Sentinel nodded, and Jazz looked away. Sentinel was surely more than happy to sentence Optimus to capital punishment, though Jazz didn't agree with him; and their Commander was, to say at least, quite pissed at Optimus for disobeying his direct orders.

Absorbed into his own thoughts, the Commander sighed. "I'll go catch some fresh air for my ventilation. If something is amiss, comm me; otherwise, I'd like to be alone."

The officers nodded and watched as the head of the Autobot Supreme command walked out from the brightly lit Academy hall. All around, mechs were chatting and drinking, celebrating the fresh graduates. 

Once Magnus was out of audio-shot, Sentinel gave a deep scowl. “When we find where that traitor’s been hiding, I’m going to make sure he gets the sentence he deserves.”

"You mean you’ll give him the sentence you _think_ he deserves," quipped Jazz smoothly. "But all that mess don't explain all the cyclin' of his vents when he arrived. He was speeding from base t’ the Academy. Not his style."

"I don’t think, Jazz, I _know_ ,” hissed Sentinel, ignoring Jazz’s concern for their Commander’s status. “Optimus committed _high treason_ when he went against the Commander’s _direct orders_ —while carrying precious cargo, no less!” There was a disbelieving grin on his face as he scoffed. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t deserve some sort of capital punishment!”

“That’s up t’ the Commander t’ decide, Sentinel.” Jazz gave the taller mech another disapproving look. “So if he gives ya such orders, be my guest—if not, ya better be ready t’ do what he says.”

Sentinel Prime sneered. “You just wanna go easy on him because your buddy Prowl is there with him,” he accused.

It was a low blow, and Jazz conveyed that clearly with the flicker of his visor and a turned glance. He really wished that he could say so. It had been ages since he’d last seen Prowl, and he did wish dearly with all his spark to see the mech’s face again—but the last time they met, they hadn’t exactly left things on good terms, and Jazz was afraid. Afraid that, upon meeting again, Prowl wouldn’t share his enthusiasm for the reunion.

Sentinel misconstrued the ninjabot’s reaction as an abstract admittance and grinned wide. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

In a rare show of anger, Jazz glared. “How ‘bout you go bother some other poor ‘bot for a while, Sentinel?”

Surprised, the larger mech blinked as his smaller white companion took the liberty of detaching to find other suitable company. “...Was it something I said...?”

 

Hot Rod wasn't above a few parties now and again; he was a top student, but that didn't mean he didn't want to have any fun. All work and no play makes for a very boring bot, after all. However, right now, Hot Rod didn't feel much like partying. He had one cube of high-grade half-finished in his hand, and was sitting by one of the windows peering into the room from outside in the hall, looking down at his medal and badge, playing with both between sips of energon with a silly grin on his face.

"The way you've been rubbing that badge, you may as well make a pet out of it..."

Hot Rod blinked as he looked up in the direction of the voice, only to find a certain black-and-red femme grinning at him over the edge of her cube. He pouted at the joke, and Anima giggled. "Lighten up, Rodi, I was kidding. Congrats again on being accepted. You have every right to feel proud of yourself."

"I guess," said Hot Rod, dipping his head humbly. Anima reeled, peering sideways at him.

"Uh-oh...you're being _modest_. That's not the Hot Rod I know. What is it now?"

Hot Rod dropped his hand from the badge on his chestplate, sipping from his energon. He mumbled something into the rim. "Say that again?" Anima asked.

"You know what it is," repeated Hot Rod. 

"No, I'm afraid I don't." The femme clambered up onto a seat next to Hot Rod, crossing her long legs with her cube in her lap, smiling. "But if you want to tell me, I love a good story!"

Hot Rod chuckled, setting his cube aside on top of the counter behind him. "No, it's stupid, you'll laugh at me."

"Oh, come on!" Anima prodded Hot Rod in the side with an elbow, effectively causing the larger mech to shift and run his vents in a sigh. "I never told anyone about this, but..." he leaned over, speaking to Anima as though it were a guarded secret, "Once, a long time ago, back when I first transferred to the Academy...I...I actually met the Commander in the halls."

"You're lying!" Anima cried, incredulous grin breaking over her face.

"Well, not really _met_ him," Hot Rod amended, "More like I ran into him. But we talked a little bit, me and him."

"Hot Rod, if you're lying, I swear by Primus I'm going to scramble your circuits." Rarely ever did Ultra Magnus show his face to the students of the Academy outside of happening to rendezvous there on official business with the Elites and Sentinel Prime, all of whom doubled as teachers on a substitution basis when available. As a result, being able to catch a glimpse of the mech was a golden opportunity—the chance to _speak_ with him was a gift from above.

"I'm not lying!" Hot Rod babbled defensively, "See, I was on my way to Professor Skyfire's lab, and I was in a big rush because I had this data pad due, and the deadline was literally—" he pinched his fingers together, "— _this_ close to slamming shut on me. So I was running, obviously, because it was a big part of my grade, and missing it would be a disaster! I wasn't looking where I was going, bumped into another mech in the halls, and while I was grabbing my data pad from the floor, I looked up and Ultra Magnus was standing _right there_."

"Oh, Primus," Anima burst out laughing. "If I were you right then, I would have offlined from embarrassment!"

"I nearly did!" Hot Rod complained, faceplates heating up. "But he was so nice. He asked me where I was on my way to, and then when I explained, he said he would send a message to Skyfire to accept my data pad regardless of the due time." He smiled wide. "Guess he didn't want me running headlong into another student."

Anima chuckled, downing another round of energon. "Wow, Rodi, you've practically been _baptized_ by that mech, haven't you?"

Hot Rod's optics flickered innocently. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, you look up to Ultra Magnus like he's Primus himself. The fact that you not only exchanged words with him, but he _did you a favor_ , totally explains why you're always so enthralled by him."

Hot Rod's vents hissed hot air. "You're cratered," he grumbled.

Anima grinned, "About as much as you."

Hot Rod grumbled some more. 

What came next was bound to happen. The Universe does not let such opportunities pass. A tall, blue-white form appeared on the corridor, rounding a corner, and the commander was walking toward the two younglings. He didn't stop thought, merely flashed a smile at them—by some unimaginable reason, Hot Rod could swear that Ultra Magnus _winked_ at him—nodded, and continued his path with a seasoned grace. 

When he was sure that nobody can see him, he was grinning slightly. 

Hot Rod froze again when Ultra Magnus passed them, eyes widening. While he stood there like a metallic statue, Anima gave a salute as the Commander passed.

The wink, though—he could have sworn by his life that Magnus winked at him—that shook him out of his lockdown, spark leaping in his chassis. Hot Rod took nearly too long to wrestle with the options: stay here with the rest of them, and nurse his energon before going into recharge, or follow the object of his admiration down the halls.

Ultra Magnus was nearly out of sight before Hot Rod jumped down from his seat. "'Scuse me, Anima..."

Anima blinked. "Where are you going? The party barely started!" Hot Rod was already moving. She shouted after him. "You didn't even finish your energon!"

"You can take it if you want! I'll talk to you later!" Leaving his femme friend behind, Hot Rod took off after Ultra Magnus, footsteps thumping rapidly across the floor as he attempted to catch up with the Commander, who by now had disappeared around the corner. 

By the time he caught up with the majestic elderly mech, Magnus was standing at the end of the corridor, by a slightly open window and was gazing outside, at the city's lights. At the sound of the young soldier's footsteps, he glanced at him, tilting his head to the side a little, and with his free hand, he beckoned Hot Rod closer. 

There was another fluttering pulse from his spark, but Hot Rod refused to let himself stand still again, stepping more carefully now over to the Commander. First the wink, and now he was calling him over; what was going on, exactly?

"D...D-Did you...ah...want to speak to me...? S-Sir?" 

Ultra Magnus actually smiled. "Not necessarily, but you obviously do, as you followed me. Step closer, _ensign_ Hot Rod, and speak. I'm listening." 

Hot Rod's faceplates heated again. "O—Oh!" He hurried over to be within conversation's distance, a nervous laugh escaping him. "It's...nothing, really...I was just...umm...I was..." Hot Rod cut himself off when he realized he was rambling, vents spitting hot air again. How embarrassing! He had just been made an ensign of the Elite Guard in training, and he was acting like a sparkling in front of the Commander. What _had_ he followed him for? Was there even anything they could talk about?

An uneasy silence dangled in the air, before Hot Rod finally blurted out, "I-I ran into you a long time ago, do you remember? I was the one with the data pad rushing through the halls. You pardoned my project to Professor Skyfire." 

The commander's smile just softened, and he nodded. "Of course I remember. You nearly dented my abdominal plates—" Seeing the ensign's optics grow wide from horror, Ultra Magnus laughed. "I was just joking, calm down." He turned toward the younger mech, his pose relaxed. "I've heard quite a lot about you, my young friend. You were among the best cadets in the Academy, and every professor who had the chance to teach you agreed that you'd be member of the Guards one day. I was actually glad we...ran into each other, so to speak. I wished to meet you personally. Unfortunately, we couldn't really spend time together back then, but maybe now, we'll have the chance." 

Hot Rod was, needless to say, struck with awe. _He wanted to...meet me_? He'd always fancied himself a good student, but he never imagined he would be that good; at least, not in the Commander's eyes. Up until this point, Ultra Magnus, to Hot Rod, had been an untouchable god. He was someone to be idolized, someone too busy to be so personally concerned with the affairs of up-and-coming mechs such as Hot Rod.

Strangely, this revelation wasn't at all disappointing. It actually made Hot Rod admire him more—and it helped him to relax (or at least as much as he could at the prospect of Ultra Magnus wanting to meet him). This would allow them to actually _talk_ , more as two mechs than a Commander and soldier.

"I'm...honored, sir," he admitted, dipping his head a bit. "I mean, I've always tried my best; I knew I was at the top of my class, but, I didn't think I would be _that_ recognized!" 

"Talent is always recognized," the Commander pointed out. "Especially since we were forced to pick out those with certain talents..." He looked out on the window, his expression growing a bit distant. "Come closer, Hot Rod," he made an inviting gesture with his arm—the young mech could catch a glimpse of old wounds on the armor, barely noticeable, but definitely there. "Come, look down and tell me...what do you see?" 

Hot Rod approached the window out of curiosity, following the Commander's gaze outside onto the city skyline. A confused frown crinkled across his faceplates.

"I see the city," he said plainly. "And the people that live in it, going about their daily lives..." still puzzled, Hot Rod glanced sideways at his Commander, "Is there some lesson in this...?"

Magnus' hand descended on the crimson shoulder. "I see...a tortured world still trying to recover." he said, and for a moment, he did look old. "Even though the Great War has passed, its memory still lingers. There is much rebuilding to do; not on the surface, but in the sparks." He looked at the younger mech. "And we have to be wary, always alert, so that there won't be another Great War ever again. That's what the Elite Guards do. They're watching, always aware, always ready; a vigilant strike force, to crush the rising evil which would want to swallow all our lives and hopes." 

Hot Rod's spark sank in his chest for a moment as Ultra Magnus spoke; but it quickly lifted, and in a moment he was smiling again. 

"Then I'll do my best to keep the tradition," he replied simply. 

"I'd rather love if there were no need for such a tradition..." Magnus smiled, and placed his other hand on Hot Rod's shoulders as well. "But, I'm glad I'll be surrounded by such eager and strong young mechs like you, my friend. We really need the fresh fuel...most of us feel weary of duty. But you'll do great. I can see it in your optics." 

Hot Rod had to take a moment to respond. He had briefly tunneled his focus on the hand atop his shoulders. Ultra Magnus gave off so many different things just by being near and speaking like this—stern compassion, boundless wisdom, strong but weary from so many battles. And Hot Rod could tell just by sparing a glance at the other's armoring how much battle he'd seen—there weren't many scars to be told of, but Magnus did still have a few, and those few alone told stories.

"Th...Thank you...very much." 

Magnus nodded, still smiling, and his calloused hand briefly cupped Hot Rod's helm. "You will be an excellent guard. You're brave, and handsome." Then, he took his hand away...and stopped. The smile disappeared, and the commander slowly placed his hand on his chest... Then, his optics offlined, and he doubled over with a pained moan. 

Hot Rod's optics nearly fell from their sockets, they were so wide. He supported the larger mech as he looked to nearly fall, panic striking him in his spark. "Commander!"


	24. Higher Calling  03

"Commander!"

"I'm...fine!" Magnus shook his head, and straightened, trying to lean against the wall rather than the young mech. "It's...nothing. I'm alright. Give me my cube, ensign. That'll do the trick." 

Hot Rod was in no position to disobey, but he still worried as he grabbed the Commander's cube of energon and held it out to him. He certainly didn't _seem_ fine—he looked to be in pain!

"A-Are you sure? If you need medical attention, I could...!" 

"I’m fine." The commander held up a hand, which effectively silenced the fresh ensign. Magnus took a sip and his faceplates relaxed. "Minor spark chamber energy support failure," he murmured. "It comes with my age, pipes get clogged up... I'll let the medics see to it. Happens around every ten solar cycles...I'm...sorry you had to see it." 

Hot Rod watched Ultra Magnus with his lips pressed tight, nothing but concern etched into his features. Energy support failure? The Commander wasn't going to die, was he?

"So...it's...it's not serious?" he asked, hope evident in his voice.

"Depends on how you look at it..." Magnus settled down on the wide windowsill, to sip his cube. The liquid energon gave his system a boost, and the problem was effectively corrected. "It could get worse. I think I'll visit the Protihex Medical Center for a thorough system reworking, after I've come back." 

The ensign wasn't very assured by the matter. "But you'll be alright until then, right?" The last thing Hot Rod wanted happening to the Commander was something life-threatening—and so soon after becoming an Elite Guard! He'd been looking forward to this honor all his life: to be able to serve Ultra Magnus with the highest of honors as a member of the Elite. If that were taken from him now...his spark ached at the thought of it. Losing Ultra Magnus...it just couldn't happen. 

"Don't worry, I will be. I'm most probably safe for another ten solar cycles, and my trip should not take that long. Though...who knows...?" He glanced at Hot Rod. "I'm a soldier; accidents and unpredictable trouble come easily in the line of duty. I do have high hopes of this mission being very smooth and very fast. However..." His optics darkened. "If there are still Decepticons..." 

Hot Rod's optics dimmed and his faceplates tightened. He knew death was a reality of battle, but it didn't make the idea hurt any less. Especially at losing his Supreme Commander, the person he'd looked up to for so long, who had practically driven him to be who he was right now.

"...Tell me about the Decepticons?" He pulled himself up onto the windowsill, allowing himself to be on a more level plane with Ultra Magnus as he glanced to the Commander. Any subject was better than Magnus' personal health. Who knows, it may help him worry less.... 

"Well, I suppose, you'll hear about it soon enough." Magnus nodded. "Fifty solar cycles ago, we lost contact with a small Autobot team. They had a very precious cargo; it was important for us. However, they ran into Decepticons...most probably just a lone scout ship; they wouldn't dare to breach Autobot space. But their leader, a mech I had high hopes for once..." the commander's lips tightened. "He disobeyed my direct order, and he vanished with the team and the cargo. We managed to finally restrict our search for one sector, we'll have them soon. I'll personally see to the matter." 

Hot Rod listened intently to Ultra Magnus as he explained; chin resting in his hands with his optics fixated on the Commander.

"You shouldn't be too upset with him," Hot Rod replied. "If he's as good a mech as you make him sound, he must have had his reasons. He might have done it to keep the cargo safe, knowing how important it was." 

"A soldier has to obey his commander," Magnus pointed out. "He was not cut out to be a hero...in fact, he failed the Academy. Either he was trying to foolishly prove himself, or he just got scared." He let his vents expel the inner heat. He got a little carried away. "I'll bring him home, and the Council will discuss his fate." 

"But, even if that's true...if he managed to keep the cargo safe, and the team is found alive, that should count for something, shouldn't it?"

The Commander shot him a glance and Hot Rod shied away. "I...never mind...I'm sorry." What was he thinking, speaking up like that? Ultra Magnus was the Supreme Commander; what he said was done, no matter what. 

A white hand took hold on his chin, and turned him toward the commander. "You are a promising mech," Magnus said quietly. "And I see your kindness, your thirst for justice. That is good. But a soldier, especially a high-ranking officer has to know when to be tough and unbending, merciless even. You still have a lot to learn. And I'll teach you." 

His spark jumped again in his chest. Hot Rod didn't dare move even an inch, too afraid of breaking out of the hand that held his chin gently up to fix deep blue optics on his bright, young ones. He struggled not to make a sparkling of himself; never in his wildest dreams had he imagined such a talk with the Commander would ever come true, let alone what he was doing now. Tilting his head up like this made Hot Rod feel a strange pulsing sensation in his spark, causing him to squirm anxiously. He didn't know what to make of it.

"T—Teach me?" he stuttered, silencing the majority of the stammers that preceded it. This situation was beginning to make him behave very unlike he should be. "How, sir...?" 

"Well, I used to train the elite Guard cadets...maybe, after that cargo is secured, I could do that again. Sentinel can deal with my duties for a while." He smiled slowly, and leaned a little bit closer. "I have high hopes for you, too, and I want to see them justified. Shooting, unarmed combat, maneuverability..."Again, he came a bit closer, his thumb lightly touching Hot Rod's lips. "Maybe even..." 

That thumb on his lips made that strange feeling ripple through his spark again. Hot Rod found his hold on the sill beneath him tightening, optics wavering under the Commander's ever-constant gaze. He had the feeling Ultra Magnus suddenly wasn't talking about his military training...what was so frustrating was that he couldn't figure out for the life of him what this meant. It was _strange_ , but not undesirable—just odd.

"S-Sir...?" Hot Rod didn't move, didn't dare to think it. He was too close. Ultra Magnus was less than an inch from his face, and he had no idea why, but whatever the Commander was thinking, Hot Rod didn't feel afraid. 

"...No." The spell broke; the tense moment full of eager anticipation shattered, its shards chiming on the floor in disappointment. Magnus pulled back with an almost apologetic look. "I'm sorry, I got carried away. You make it hard to hold my composure...too many memories." He shook his head with a tiny smile. "I hope I haven't startled you." 

_What_? Hot Rod's spirits suddenly sank. He shifted across the windowsill, hoping subconsciously to gain back some of that closeness. "W—Wait...what was that? What were you doing just now?" 

"I...remembered a lost comrade. He looked a bit like you. We were...close. Very close. I'm getting old." The commander stood up and walked away a few steps. "This is not done anymore; forgive me for dumping my rusty old habits on you." 

"Not done anymore? What do you mean?" Hot Rod jumped down from the windowsill, following diligently after the Commander. He was curious now; and besides, his spark still felt funny. He had to know what was causing all of this.

"Ultra Magnus, sir...I apologize if I'm being invasive somehow, but..." Hot Rod hesitated. What was that? What did he mean to say...? "It...That seemed like it was leading to something. Did you do that with this comrade of yours...?" 

Ultra Magnus perked up, and grabbed Hot Rod by the arm, quickly pulling him behind the stairs nearby. "Quiet, you youngster! No need for everybody to know..." Startled, Hot Rod was about to object when Magnus interrupted him. "Hush!" he commanded quietly, and in the descending silence, they could hear another mech's footsteps.

"Hmm...? Eh, too many cubes..."

The footsteps died off. The commander grinned down at the ensign. "Solitude; it’s worth the trouble." He tightened his hold a little bit around the crimson form. "You'd like to know, my young friend? Very well...you have to face the fact that, sometimes, even the Supreme Commander wavers in following the rules." 

"Huh?" Hot Rod shot Magnus a look, optics wide, biting back a stutter when the Commander pulled him in. The closeness was back, but something was off now. The first time, it felt somehow more natural, less restrictive. This...was more like a secret...

But if it was a secret Ultra Magnus was willing to share, he would dive into it, if he had the chance. "What do you mean...?" Hot Rod's voice was hushed, speaking at low volumes, to keep the silence the Commander had requested. 

"You are an intelligent mech, and very educated, interested in history. I'm sure you caught mentions of 'bonding'." 

Hot Rod's optics brightened a bit. "Yeah, some of the old data files mention it—" they lit up like street lights. "Is that what you were trying to do?" 

"Not...exactly." Magnus shivered. "Bonding had...stages. It gradually progressed, as the two mechs got to know each other better, as they learned to love and respect each other more. From simple touches, they could continue to giving overloads, and sometimes eventually bond their sparks." 

Silent awe flooded the younger mech's features. "Bond their... _sparks_?" How...? How could two mechs do that without catastrophic consequences? Their sparks were everything that made them who they are, what made them whole. Hot Rod shuddered at the thought; bonding had been mentioned in such a positive light, but at first thought, it didn't sound very pleasant.

"That's...that's..." Hot Rod was stammering again. He quieted himself. His spark was flitting curiously in its chassis. 

"It required a great deal of patience and thrust," Magnus explained. "Back then, in my youth, it was quite a common thing. Then, the Great War came and took it from us. But memories remain. Your spark is so vibrant..." He pressed a hand against the flame deco on Hot Rod's chest. "It calls out. It's hard to resist it." 

Suddenly, it made sense. He'd been talking to Ultra Magnus all this time, and the Commander had tried to initiate something with him...Hot Rod listened to the throb of his spark, and realized that Ultra Magnus must have somehow picked up on it. He'd been attracted to him—to his spark.

It didn't matter anymore the reasoning for such a reaction; the fact that Hot Rod had invoked this response out of the Commander made him feel like he could fly. Hot Rod smiled sheepishly, chuckling, and tried to hide it when it seemed too silly. He met Magnus' gaze, laying a silver hand over the other's deep blue one.

"S-So, i-if they didn't bond sparks, then...what did they do instead?" Hot Rod paused. Ultra Magnus had mentioned something about overloads... 

The other white hand gently slipped to his neck, cupping his head as if for support, and in the next moment, the commander's lips were pressed against his. Energy fields mingled and crackled, and the young mech could distantly feel as the hand left his chest, just to curl around his slender waist and pull him closer.

Hot Rod shivered from head to toe at the wave of static-like energy between the two of them, allowing Ultra Magnus to envelop him in a strong but gentle embrace, drawing him in. He wasn't sure how to make it better for the Commander, but Hot Rod was plenty satisfied just to bask in the older mech's attentions—taking in the way his lips felt, how Magnus' energy soothed against his, what it was like to be held this way. Ultra Magnus tilted his head and Hot Rod moaned softly when he felt a warm, slick glossa flicking over his lips, chasing after it with a kiss of his own, trying to be as kind to the Commander as the Commander was to him. 

Ultra Magnus, on the other hand, was basking in the feeling of triumph. Young mechs these days... so trusting and eager. Maybe it was the sign of a new era? Now that the Allspark was about to return to Cybertron, ending the energy deprivation... 

Magnus drew out the contact, savoring the unique vibrations of the ensign's energy patterns, then slowly drew back, letting his vents blow warm air out in a deep, long sigh. He looked into the brightly burning optics, curious about Hot Rod's reaction. 

Being mere inches from Ultra Magnus' face, Hot Rod stared deeply into the pair of optics meeting his, glossa swiping over his lips to taste the remnants of energy tingling in his processors. He was heating nicely, smiling and moving to close what little space there was between him and Magnus.

"Is there more where that came from?" 

The commander laughed softly, his hand slipping to the younger mech's aft to grab a feel. "If you'd like to, I will teach you to bond as well. But not right now. Anybody could see us, and it's not proper anyway, to go beyond kissing so soon." 

Hot Rod arched his back a little, pressing into the hand that was groping him behind. "I can be patient," he insisted. "But if that's the case, then, for now...what should I do to return the favor?" 

"You already did," Magnus nodded with a smile. "You didn't pull away, you were not frightened, and you reciprocated bravely. That's all I can ask for. When I need something, I will tell you so, count on that. The first thing is, in fact, that albeit I happen to think that you're handsome and an excellent cadet...that does not mean you'll get any privileges during your training. I have, and always will, separate my job from my private life. When you make a mistake, you will be punished accordingly." 

Hot Rod nodded his head. Of course he understood that—if anything, he had been hoping for that. If there was anything Hot Rod disliked, it was biased favors. He had worked his aft to rust getting this job; ruining it now would make all of his efforts meaningless. 

"Good." Magnus ran a hand over the side of Hot Rod's helm. "Well then, shouldn't we return to the party? This is your day, after all." 

The ensign's expression sank, shoulders slumping with the rest of his frame. Hot Rod peered behind him at the empty hall, almost pouting. "Do we have to?" he asked. 

"They'll be looking for us, after a while," the commander grinned. "But perhaps, they can get along without us for a few cycles. What's in your mind?"

Hot Rod's mood picked up again almost immediately. "I just...like being here." He nudged against Ultra Magnus a little, to show what he meant. 

Two strong arms curled around him and pulled him closer. "Well... I think we can afford _that_."


	25. Vertigo

He had no idea what was getting into him.

Bumblebee was falling asleep on his feet again in the halls, and shook his head before he could totally lapse into a recharge and kept going. He'd been getting steadily more and more tired, ever since that exhibition in the woods with those space barnacles. Remembering how they had taken over him and Prowl, Bumblebee shuddered. It was a miracle that they were able to get out of there still sentient, and with much thanks to Sari, who seared the things off of them with a blast of hot water.

Still, after a check-up from Ratchet to make sure they were both okay, Bumblebee had been growing sluggish. Of course, they'd had many missions after the space barnacles encounter, so for the long run he supposed it was just all of the work. But then he began to notice that the energy didn't come back after recharge. Recharge would give him a little bit back, but in the end, Bee was losing more energy than he was gaining. He would consider going to Ratchet about it, were it not for another factor in the strange pattern. His spark was fluttering in his chest, frantically and constantly, and Bumblebee wasn't sure why he was acting so strange. Every moment he spent in the company of his fellow 'bots made his spark act up in subtle ways, forcing thoughts into the yellow scout's head that he really didn't want and made him feel mortified at himself for even considering them.

He was at a loss. Bumblebee didn't want to see Ratchet about this just yet--perhaps it was nothing too serious, and maybe it was just a phase. He craved contact, ached for it--maybe it was just because he'd nearly lost his sentience to those barnacles out in the woods. Maybe Bee had honestly become so scared that he thought he might offline forever. He needed the comfort and support of another...and, on a self-prescribed diagnosis...Bee knew exactly where to find it.

Seeking out Optimus' room was second nature to Bumblebee by now, and he didn't waste time coming up to the boss-bot's door and peering inside casually, hoping the other would be there. No...he _knew_ Optimus was there. His spark began to flutter again, pulsing with a strange rhythm that he wasn't quite used to; dragging at his consciousness, tiring him and making every step feel like an effort.

"Optimus...?"

The young leader looked up from the computer screen—he was both arranging some files and entertaining himself with online games. Just on a very laid-back manner though, because he already noticed human computer systems did not take kindly to the speed and efficiency of a Cybertronian brain. He was beating this one with the sixth character already. Maxing the levels could really wait if Bee needed him. 

Saving the level, Prime smiled at his mate. He was glad Bee returned from the woods unscratched... He didn't like to entertain the though what would he do without the little scout. Optimus' spark leapt and he extended a hand toward Bee, beckoning him closer. "Come closer, my star." The endearment was nothing unusual by now. "What's the matter? Tired again?"

Bee bobbed his head in an exhausted manner and dragged his feet as he moved towards Optimus, finally reaching out to take his hand and crawl up into the larger mech's lap with a low groan. "So many missions," he complained. "An' I haven't been recharging all too well..."

Optimus gave up resisting long ago; he kissed the scout gently, dragging out the contact, while his hands roamed over the yellow frame on a shooting manner. "You've been working hard. You really deserve some proper rest and a bit of spoiling, don't you? You'll recharge here tonight, with me. I hope you'll feel better in the morning." With a smile, he stood up, with Bee in his arms, and targeted his berth. The small frame was warm against his own, and Optimus realized that a certain need was growing in him to hold the scout close and relish in that lovely heat. 

From the moment Optimus kissed him, Bumblebee squirmed, starting to feel the odd fluttering in his spark getting stronger. He clung to Prime's frame, smiling a little at the prospect and revving his small engine in delight. Suddenly he wasn't so tired anymore. "I think I can deal with that," he purred, leaning up to kiss the blue and red mech as they neared closer to the berth.

Moments like these made the entire struggling worth. The young Prime was reminded that there was a reason to fight, that he had comrades to fight for, and a lovely little mate. He offlined his optics to concentrate fully on the humming of the clashing energy fields, the way that nimble little glossa brushed against sensors in his mouth. His engine revved up as well and his spark squirmed in anticipation. Once this whole ordeal was over...Optimus already decided to bare his core to Bumblebee, if he accepted it. 

He gently lowered the scout on the berth and lay down next to him, cupping the yellow helm and running a thumb over the small horn there. "My brave soldier...my fine mech."

"Optimus..." Bee moaned the other's name, tilting his head up into the touch and pressing his own hands against the slats of Prime's grill and against his chest, sliding nimble fingers between the crevices and moving to place kisses on his mate wherever he could reach. His spark flared again in his chest, energy crackling to a ready peak. It came so fast, but it had happened before, in the company of his comrades, so it didn't surprise Bumblebee at all. It made him energetic, gave him his effort back and made his optics brighten with anticipation. He suddenly felt awake, _alive_ , heightened somehow as he pressed his fingers against the sensitive wiring beneath Prime's grill and purred against his neck, pulling him in for a firm kiss by gripping the base of one audio.

"Hha—aah, y-you look quite a-awake to me..." Prime gasped, leaning closer to those skilled little fingers. They were his undoing. They made his spark sing with joy, and his circuits flare up with desire. Eventually, he rolled on his stomach, covering Bee's frame with his own, trapping the smaller bot beneath his body effectively. 

" _Somebody_ wants an overload." Optimus grinned, nuzzling the scout lovingly. "Well then, let me see what I can do about it." His fingers were playing with the horn, while his free hand slid along the yellow plating, to eventually brush against the back of the knee-joint with a proper firmness. 

Bumblebee keened when Prime firmly stroked his knee-joint, arching as his optics flashed and then dimmed until offline. He pressed his lips tight in a whimper and writhed, his energy flaring out against Prime's, and he rubbed his mate's audios and ground against his torso, grating against the grill slats, his entire self pleading for an overload. Normally, he was pretty sensitive in that spot besides, but now—it was like being seared with raw energy, as if it weren't even Prime, but the flash and pulse of sensation that was Prime. Like he was feeding off every touch and caress the other gave him, drinking it in like the fuel he'd been depraved of for the past several orns. It was _ecstasy_ and Bumblebee's vents were skipping intakes _worlds_ faster than they normally would. He was already reaching critical, and he wasn't slowing down--vigorous and hungry, mewling and moaning and squirming against his mate, engine revving. A little yellow ball of raw desire curled against a sturdy, supportive frame. "Op—timus...aah...please...mmmm...!!"

The young leader's spark was writhing in its casing and his internals felt like churning just be the audio-visual feedback. Never before had he seen Bumblebee so engulfed in pleasure; and, frankly, the knowledge that he was able to reduce another mech into a whimpering mass of want and need filled Prime with immense pride. The heat against him was scorching off his paintjob; his own vents hummed up, cycling the air though like usual, with little to no avail. 

Optimus nibbled on those smooth silvery lips, as if trying to silence the moans. His fingers didn't rest, and he squirmed a bit, to press his grill against Bee's midsection, where the vibrations from the scout's engine could be felt the strongest. "You're already scrambled... Were you missing me so much?" Prime teased playfully. 

Bumblebee squealed as Prime rubbed against him and kissed and nipped his lips, and pressed his fingers everywhere in response, gripping one of Prime's audios a bit harshly and arching up against him, not minding the slabs of paint sliding off his frame and the harsh, almost destructive heat frying his systems, causing him to get more and more restless. "Yes!" he whimpered, his spark pounding hard in his chest. It wasn't even a response, just a pure cry of pleasure urging Prime on. He'd _never_ felt a pending overload so strongly before and he was losing himself in the sensation. "Yes, yes, yes, please, Optimus...!"

Somewhere in the back of Prime's mind, a single logic processor sensed that this was not normal... But the rest of the young leader's mind was focusing on the wanton beauty displayed for him. He didn't mind the slight pain—this was just intoxicating. "Yes, my little star," he murmured, not stopping for a second. "You're beautiful like this, so hot...I love you." He ground his front against the small frame writhing beneath him just careful enough not to crush his mate. "Overload for me, my soldier...!"

Bee arched sharply, optics rolling as he moaned, muffling it against Prime's broad chassis as it grew particularly loud. Writhing and scorching with energy, the yellow scout overloaded on the spot; digging his fingers into Prime's neck and shoulders and grinding against his front. Overload _swallowed_ him, and for a moment Bumblebee experienced a heavenly state of vertigo, losing sense of everything but _feeling_. It was the greatest, most exquisite pleasure he'd ever felt in his short life. He sucked it all up hungrily as his vents stuttered on their intakes, the heat nearly forcing them to break down altogether as he moaned nonstop, whimpering, trembling like a leaf and still rocking against Prime's body as he settled, pressing his palms against the other's audios.

Optimus was trembling, too, but he was nowhere near enough completion just yet. The energy released from the scout's system clawed at his fields viciously, almost like talons of prickling pleasure, making him crave more. Lust engulfed his spark and slithered out in tendrils to weave itself into his neuro-grid, and the young leader's optics burned brighter from the need. Still, he restrained himself, waiting until Bee seemed to be able to listen to him. "Well, that was fast...and intense, I take, from the hitching of your ventilation."

The yellow scout moaned, still squirming restlessly. His optics came online...

And Optimus was staring straight into the face of insatiable hunger.

Bee split a wide smile, leaning up, nipping at the base of Prime's audio and running his glossa in long circles over the screw, sucking on it and arching up against his grill. He hummed and his energy fields crackled and scraped desperately at Prime's. Whether or not Bee did it by himself, he finally managed to have the young Autobot leader on his back on the berth, straddling him with a grace much like the cat creatures of Earth, _growling_ , optics flashing pure desire.

"Again," he purred, fingers stroking firmly over Prime's chest and his grill.

Primus, he was doomed. The sudden change in position caught Prime by surprise, and as he stared at his mate, he was simply not able to say no. He couldn’t think straight. When his audios were stimulated, he all but yelled from pleasure, and he couldn't give a damn if the others heard—he wanted that slick little glossa, those perfectly crafted lips against his sensitive receptors again. "Yes; more, please...!" He moaned, curling his hands around Bee's slender waist. "Again...my audios..." At a sudden impulse, with a sheepish smile, he added: "Please, sir."

The little yellow mech tilted his head quizzically for a moment. Sir...? He was in charge...? He was _in charge_. Oh, how Bumblebee shuddered with delight; he grinned and gave his mate exactly what he wanted. Leaning down with a low, throaty moan, he opened his lips and closed them over the edge of an audio screw, sucking and running his glossa over the center groove while he stimulated the opposite twin, mimicking his glossa's movements with small yellow fingers.

Optimus' fingers twitched, and he needed all his remaining willpower not to crush them into yellow plating. Instead, he let his hands roam over the entire small frame, pinching the horns, scraping the knee-joints. His back was arching as his hydraulics malfunctioned, and he couldn't keep his voice down.

"Oh, Primus, yes, yes, there, aaahh... More, firmer, Bee...sir, please! Aah!" He was rapidly nearing the peak now, processors reeling, warning signs blocking his view. Prime offlined them without a second thought. 

Bumblebee whimpered against his mate's audios and sucked a little harder, nipping even at the tips as he pressed into those free-roaming hands on his white-hot frame, switching between pleading moans and possessive hums that were almost feral in nature. His vents sputtered uselessly again and he hissed, rocking against Prime's frame. "Mmm, _Optimus_! Oooh...!" Bumblebee's optics dimmed again and he shuddered, flitting between conscious awareness and a sink into freefall again as he felt himself reaching peak. It was coming even faster this time than the last, and Bee was quickly spiraling out of control, attentions swapping between gentle caresses and firm scrapes.

At any other time, Prime would have thought it was weird for his partner to achieve another overload, let alone this fast. But now, his only thought was _'Not fair!'_ Bee was having his second, and he didn't even have one! Though, he was really rapidly nearing it by now; never before had the little scout paid so much attention to his audios, preferring to have his hands up in his leader's grill. Optimus' processors—those few still working—were reeling, and he let out a strained cry.

"Bee..." he hissed, desperately, "Give it to me, please... I... can't take it—!" He needed it, and he needed it _now_. Otherwise, his insides would fry literally. The energy was brimming, it was so good it actually _hurt_ ; it burned, crackled, and Prime was sure he felt a few wires snap.

Bee wailed at his mate's cries, and tried to stave off the sweet vertigo as long as he could, nipping desperately at Prime's audios and slicking his glossa over them, pressing his fingers between the slats of Optimus' grill to brush against the sparking wires underneath firmly when he wasn't nudging his knee against the front. "Priiimmme...!" As selfish as it was, Bumblebee pleaded mentally for his mate to hurry up and overload—he couldn't _stand_ waiting, his insides were _burning_ , sated only by the snapping waves of energy coming from his lover's body as he stimulated the other closer and closer to climax.

The stars decided to humor him; with a final cry, body going rigid and fingers crushing the berth, Optimus overloaded. His spark's energy could be felt lashing out, even as the casing remained firmly shut. The intensity of the final surge achieved what no other was able to before—it knocked Prime into a short stasis, so his internals could cope. He fell back limply on the berth, optics offlined, joints sizzling. His ventilation worked on full power, sucking the energy from other, less needed and vital systems. 

The leader of the Autobots, as they said on Earth, was out cold for a while.

Bumblebee followed, very shortly and voicelessly after—jerking against his mate's body and digging dents into his shoulders, overload pulling him into that high state of heaven again and eventually making him squeal static before collapsing against Prime's chest.

And when he realized, as he calmed, that the other had fallen into stasis, Bumblebee moaned at the loss. He was still writhing and pressing against his mate's unconscious body, sucking up what energy he could get from the other's still-pulsing spark—he could sense every wave, every minute shudder with a hyperactive sense. The more that he siphoned off of Prime, the more he calmed down, until he could finally nuzzle against the other in peace, stroking his audios softly and waiting for him to wake up.

It took about three minutes until Optimus' optics flickered back online, and he wearily ran a hand over his mate's back. "Wow." That was enough to say. The one syllable contained the gratitude, the delight and the satisfaction Prime was feeling. 

Bee hummed delightedly and gave a wistful smile, nuzzling under Prime's chin. " _Primus_ , that was _sooo_ goood..." He cuddled against Optimus' frame, perfectly content to stay there for the remainder of the time. He was not at all tired now, but he would go into recharge with his mate anyway--he needed the rest, after all the times tossing and turning on the berth to no avail.

"Yeah." Prime smiled, and curled his arms around his lover. "But now, we both need some rest. So may the stars watch over our recharge." He kissed Bee's forehead gently, and allowed his body to power down. 

The yellow scout purred and settled down to fall into a pleasant recharge. Briefly, in the back of his mind, he worried about how that overload had gone...he'd never experienced that before, and a part of him cried out that it was rather abnormal. But, he figured it could wait a bit longer...


	26. Making Amendments

The med bay was quiet, save for some fumbling and a persistent scratching sound. A blue finger was rubbing the medical berth's smooth surface.

"Ratchet... Did I fail as a leader...?" 

Ratchet, a bit more irritable than usual (but not at Optimus, heavens no), worked vigorously to reattach the arm that Blitzwing had taken from him. Bumblebee and Prowl found it tossed haphazardly in a garbage can somewhere where the Decepticon had decided to throw it aside. "Don't start with that kind of talk," he grumbled, vents hissing a low sigh. "You didn't fail slag, Prime." 

"I...try." Optimus' shoulders sagged. "But no matter how I try to explain, the Allspark is no more...and I behaved like a glitch-head with all of you." He covered his optics. "I'm so ashamed of myself." 

The medic winced a bit because he nicked a minor circuit as he worked. Correcting the mistake quickly, Ratchet doubled his attention to correct Prime's statements. "You did what you had to," he said simply. "Frankly, kid, I think the Allspark's better off destroyed. Better that than being in the hands of the Decepticons. Besides, you were under a lot of stress. Any 'Bot could snap like that if he were wired tight enough..." 

"I was so...scared," Optimus confessed quietly. "For all of you, the Allspark, Earth... I...I don't know how I managed to overcome it. Maybe I just...got too scared and stopped thinking." He looked up at the medic, optics wide and bright, like a sparkling's. "Is it always this hard? Every battle, every _real_ battle...?" 

Ratchet looked up from his work to see those optics staring at him. They made his expression soften along with his spark. Another sigh; he was getting too old...

"In some ways, I suppose. Not every battle is as difficult. But the big ones...like the one you just fought? Those are always hard." Ratchet looked down at his arm, flexing his fingers to test the unfinished reconnecting. So far, so good—obviously. "That ya stood up and held your own with the rest of us proves that you're a fit leader. We weren't turned to slag, and you went toe-to-toe with Megatron and lived; twice, if I remember." He gave Optimus a small grin. "You're a fine, brave mech, Optimus. And I'll scrap you myself if you ever think otherwise." 

The young leader shuffled a bit, then stood up, inched closer and awkwardly placed a hand on the medic's shoulder. "Thank you, Ratchet," he said honestly. "You're wise and kind; I don't know where I would be without you. Thanks for having faith in me." For a few moments, his hand lingered, then he glanced at the half-connected arm. "You need any help with that...?" 

"You could not block my light," the medic said, for a moment lapsing into his usual grumpy self.

Still, as he nudged Optimus back with his good arm, he added, "And...you could keep an old mech some company while he works." 

"Any time, Ratchet," Optimus nodded and settled down, carefully that he won't disturb the medic. "I'm still a bit edgy about facing the others. I said really mean things to them, and they all handled themselves so well in battle. I wonder... Now that the Allspark is gone, there's a chance that the Decepticons won't come around again, right?" 

Ratchet frowned. "A chance...but I wouldn't say that gives you the excuse to relax. Decepticons hold pretty big grudges and they may come back just to slag us for the heck of it. I'd stay on your toes." Sparks flew as he worked a little more on his arm, "And about the others...they'll forgive you, Optimus." 

"I hope so," Prime mused, watching the intricate tools doing their work. "Especially Bumblebee. I was so worried for him, Primus...and he was so brave, opposing Starscream alone. A bit hotheaded...but brave nonetheless. You know... I've considered bonding Sparks with him. But now, I can't do it until this whole thing is over. It wouldn't be fair to him." 

"A smart move," complimented the medic as he connected a few more circuits, welded a main cable. That made his arm twitch, but it was nothing serious. "I'm sure he'll be thankful to you for it. Bumblebee is indeed a good soldier, when he doesn't let his ego get in the way of his fighting. I was rather impressed, myself." 

"And at other times, he's such a sparkling..." Optimus mused fondly. "He curls up against me when we're recharging together. And his voice, when we—umm." His faceplates heated up. "I got carried away, right...? I'm sorry. But, having him is bliss; he makes me feel happy, and I can't share this with anybody. I love him, Ratchet." 

Ratchet managed a smirk when Optimus had to derail his thoughts from more private matters, grunting in conclusion as he tested his arm again...still needed some fine-tuning. "As well he should. That's how it should be, between two young mechs like you." The medic gave a sigh, pausing in his work. "You're lucky, Prime. You have a good little lover and surrounded by 'Bots who care about you." He added with a light smirk, "Even this ol' chassis has got it in for ya...for all you young bots. Worrying me day in and day out...you're gonna make me blow a processor one of these days!" He shook his head, "I remember what it was like to be young...to have so much hope for the future. I remember what it's like to be loved by someone the way Bee loves you...but that's all in the past for me, now." Ratchet's tone was reminiscent as he continued, even a little sad. 

"Is...he...?" Suddenly, the young Prime couldn't find the courage to ask it straight. It felt horribly wrong, to loose a beloved one. By the stars, after the barnacles incident, he felt like breaking down with relief when he had Bee in his arms; and he was not there to watch the struggle, and the scout came back safe and sound. He reached out, touching the freshly repaired arm lightly, hoping that the gesture conveyed his compassion. 

Ratchet shook his head. "No. Still alive. Or he was, last I saw him, but he isn't the kind of mech to go down easy in a fight. M'sure he's holding his own just fine out there."

The medic sighed heavily, finishing up the repairs on his arm, expression soft and longing. He couldn't help himself; it had been so long since he'd spoken to someone intimately like this, and with Optimus, such a fine and promising young mech...he just...poured his spark out. "Been ages since I saw 'im last. Don't even know how he's doing. Too far away to feel anything through the bond...I keep wonderin' how the slag he's getting along without me, if he's taking care of himself..." briefly, he grumbled, "Walkin' red scrapheap was always comin' in with something broken. Sometimes felt like he was keepin' me around just so he could get the free maintenance." 

"Sound like you were real mates, and true friends," Optimus smiled warmly. "It's good to hear about relationships like that. If they were possible in the past, I'm sure it'll happen again. Ratchet..." He stood up and rounded the table, to place both hands on the medic's shoulders. "I promise you that you'll see him again. I'll do everything... I'll be a good leader, for all of you. I'll... I'll make you proud of me." His spark was pulsing faster in his chest; he felt stronger, more sure of himself. Ratchet, the grumpy old medic was always important to him, like... a father, to borrow the Earth concept of family. Yes, through these good and bad times, the bunch of ragtag repair-bots became a real family; a perfectly working unit. Optimus was proud to have them, to lead them. 

Finally finishing on his arm, Ratchet gave the limb a few good turns and finger-clenches to test everything, and it all came out rather well. Satisfied with his work, the mech turned and gave Optimus a rare full-blown smile. "Optimus...I don't think you could make me prouder."

He gave the taller, younger mech a nudge. "Now run along, before I get too sentimental. As the humans say, I'm getting 'sappy'."

"I love you either way, Ratchet," Optimus chuckled, and made his way toward the door. However, before he could leave, he stopped and turned. "Just one more thing…" he said, looking a bit thoughtful, even a touch worried, "When was the last time you ran a system check on Bumblebee...? I mean, he's...somehow... I can't even put a servo on it, but he behaves a little...differently. He's not recharging too well, and he comes to my room a lot. Which is not a _bad_ thing, but I'm getting this feeling that he's getting too attached to me, sort of dependant, and that won't lead to anything good. He has to stay able to get along without me as well."

"Maybe it's the stress," Ratchet suggested, albeit a tad hurriedly. "We've been under a lot of it lately. Offer him some time off, and he'll be good as new. Best repair job I can prescribe." 

"You know what's best for all of us," the young leader nodded, then smiled. "See you later then, Ratchet." He had a few other things to do. Seek out Prowl, Bulkhead, and Bumblebee...probably even Sari, who was worried for her father. Optimus still couldn't quite decide how to feel about Professor Sumdac... He revived their mortal enemy; but he was lied to. Megatron was the master of deception, without question. 

As these thoughts on what to do ran rampant in his mind, Optimus wandered the halls of the Autobot base until he discovered a little yellow figure stepping outside. It was Bumblebee, apparently just leaving Bulkhead's room. The yellow scout spotted him only moments after Prime laid eyes on him; and upon the sight of his mate, Bumblebee's elated expression deflated into a sour frown. 

Ooops... If that was anything, it was definitely discouraging. Still, Prime steeled himself, and he stepped closer. "Bee...do you have a moment?" he asked gently. "I think, we...should talk about...what happened back at the fight." 

Bee crossed his arms. "What, you didn't finish lecturing me on my past history of mistakes?" 

"No, Bee, please...! I'd like to apologize. I was unfair with all of you, while you handled yourselves excellently. I'm sorry for being a glitch-head." He glanced at the scout. "Could we talk this through at a more private place...?" 

Bumblebee didn't seem convinced, irritably rolling his optics and turning with a sigh. "My room's free," he clipped, heading off in that direction and expecting Prime to follow. 

Optimus did, all the while contemplating what to say. Will he be able to tell how worried he was, how scared he was? Was a leader allowed to admit those things? His spark said yes. After all, the others loved him, trusted him... And that slender little creature ahead was his future sparkmate. 

Still, as the door closed behind them, Optimus found his vocalizer glitching. He just stared at the small yellow Bot, and wished if he could change the past. 

"Well, come on, Optimus, I assume you didn't come here to stare," Bee grumbled, hands on his hips. "Were you gonna say something or what?" 

The young leader shook his head to clear it. "I mean... I had no right to call you insubordinate, or anything. You make an excellent team, and I'm glad that you still follow me. I have nothing to say for myself, except that I was... I was scared." He hung his head. "All my circuitry was up in a tight bunch, I had no idea what to do, how to stop Megatron... And I was worried that something could happen to you. Any of you, but Bee...when I spotted you in Starscream's hands, my processors nearly froze. I don't want to lose you." 

Bee sighed again, lowering his head a bit. He was quiet for a while, seeming to process a few things; then, he looked up, a light smirk on his face. "Ya missed me duking it out with that slagger. Not so insubordinate anymore, right?" 

"Well, technically, I told you not to engage, and you still did; it was only Megatron's ire that saved you," Prime pointed out, notoriously sticking to the facts. "But after that, you were amazing. You turned out to be a fine soldier...a fine mech. I'd like to apologize for my outbursts. I don't want you to be angry with me. After all..." he paused a bit, and then his intakes sucked in some air to cool his insides. "You're my future Sparkmate. Meaning...if you'd like it, I would, as well." 

The yellow mech looked up at Optimus, blinking. He couldn't say he was surprised, but...to hear Optimus saying it out loud...

"You mean...?" His spark pulsed joyously in its casing, a smile breaking out across his face. "Really, Optimus? When this is all over, we can...?" 

The vents sighed with relief as Optimus stepped closer, and sank to his knees in front of his little lover. "Yes," he nodded with a smile. "I've decided. If we both want it, then we can do it; finally become one. I trust you, my star. I know you'll keep my secrets, as I will keep yours. But, not any sooner than when we're sure that the Decepticon threat is no more. It won't be a fair game otherwise." 

Bumblebee's mood lifted quickly; the smaller mech suddenly felt higher than the world and his spark fluttered and he threw himself at the larger mech with a happy, passionate kiss, all previous errors erased from his mind. He did love Optimus, after all, and wanted terribly to bond with him.

Once done with the kiss, Bee gave Optimus a flashing glance with his optics. "I can wait that long," he said smugly, jubilant at the news. 

"Suppose I'm forgiven, then?" the young leader murmured, spark fluttering as well. His lovely little mate was back in his arms, his entire yellow chassis and that incredible, vibrant energy filling it, it was his, all his. Existence was an awesome place to be. 

"Clean slate," Bee promised, nuzzling against Prime's larger frame. "You deserve it, anyway. We weren't the only ones doing a good job out there." 

"You think so?" Prime couldn't help the silly grin. It boosted his ego just the right way, when he was told he did well—especially in such a serious situation. "Thank you. Mmm, your frame is warm...is a young soldier getting excited...?" 

Bumblebee looked up, blinking, and smiled nervously. "Ah, no...um, I was just with Bulkhead, and he was feelin' pretty down, too, so we started wrestling around. Tried to cheer him up a little, you know." 

"Err. I suppose I should to talk to him, too, shouldn't I?" The leader's optics flickered. "Despite his clumsiness at occasions, he's our strongest fighter, and without him, we'd be dead. He deserves a lot of encouragement." 

"Uhh...you might wanna do that a little later." Bee smiled sheepishly. "I sorta...wore him out, and he dropped into recharge before you found me." 

"Oh. I see. Bee, don't wear your teammates out," Prime warned jokingly. Then, his expression turned more serious. "I'm glad we settled this. You're really important to me. I wouldn't mind if you listened to my orders more in the future; but I know you're impulsive. All I can do is to ask you to consider what others would feel if you offlined. Take care of yourself." 

Bumblebee laughed nervously, and gave Prime a squeeze. "Alright," he said, "I promise, then. Especially if I think about what you would feel like if _I_ offlined..."


	27. You Sing To Me

It felt good to be home.

There was something to be said for the peace of mind he gained from being here in the Helix Gardens. Heavenly blue crystals drifted in clusters all around him in all shapes and sizes; methane gas misted the ground and clouded in billowing columns here and there, shattering the reflections between clusters into geometric prisms of colored light. If Prowl tuned his audios enough, he could just pick up on the chiming melodies that resonated off the crystals--an airy, Zen-like tune that was its own stand-alone orchestra.

Walking along one of the paths, Prowl reached up to brush one finger across one large crystal, caressing the flawless glassy surface. How he'd missed the Gardens. The full impact of their splendor would take vorns to be fully restored like this. A rare smile graced Prowl's face, and he lifted his head to the shattered fragments of light, letting them play over his features in patterns and streaks, not so much to look at them as to feel them. The Helix Gardens were more than just a little taste of home; to Prowl, they were his spiritual center. Losing the Gardens was just as much losing a piece of himself as a Decepticon ripping off his arm. 

Here, the Great War's memories faded. A few million solar cycles became tens of thousands of vorns, so distant it was as if it had never existed; as if the Gardens were always this beautiful, untouched by the enemy's cruelty.

Prowl offlined his optics behind his visor and let the spirit of the place engulf him, cleanse him from everything negative. 

"Prowl? Prowl!" The familiar voice mingled easily with the silent song of the crystals, being just as melodious. As the Ninjabot turned, he immediately spotted his old friend rushing toward him with a bright smile, the mists parting before his white feet.

"Aww, man...shoulda known you'd be here. Always had your cranium in the clouds." Jazz draped a friendly arm around Prowl's shoulders. "I've been lookin' fer ya." 

His optics came online again to give a sidelong glance to the white-and-blue mech; he couldn't find it in him to frown just yet, though he didn't quite smile. "Hello, Jazz," Prowl answered, going on to say smoothly, "And I should object that I do not have my head in the clouds." 

"Have ya checked all the methane...? Cloudy enough if ya ask me!" Jazz laughed. "Anyway...s’ been a log time, eh? Ya just pop up outta the blue, barely sparin' an old buddy a glance. Some mechs missed ya, y’know." 

"I apologize," Prowl said honestly, "I wasn't aware you were visiting Praxus. You know me, Jazz; if possible, I often prefer my solitude."

To match the arm around his shoulders, which seemed more white than usual in the light of the Gardens, Prowl lifted his own and let it drape across Jazz's back, hand on his shoulder. "But I believe I can make an exception for an old friend." He smiled. "Walk with me?" 

"'Course." The Elite Smiled softly and locked his arm with the darker mech's. "S’ pretty here...I think I can see why ya like it so much. I like this chimin', too." He looked around, playfully shooing away a rack of blue methane to brush his fingers over the surface of a huge crystal, probably more than a hundred vorns old. "Glad this place is back. Glad you’re back." 

Prowl hummed, providing more of a smirk than a verbal response. As Jazz stroked one of the larger crystals, Prowl watched the colored light that broke across the Elite's hand. His thoughts began to drift. How long had they worked together? How many times had they been sent out on missions, and comforted one another, had each other's backs?

Sometimes, it honestly seemed Prowl had done absolutely nothing, in comparison to Jazz's endless assistance. What had Prowl ever done to even the score? He tried to think back on his many favors, but when put beside Jazz's efforts, they paled. Jazz had always done so much for him. He'd even kept Prowl from losing work—one of the last things left to him that gave him peace.

"...Jazz, I..." Prowl's optics wavered a bit, unseen under bright-tinted shades. "All of these years...working by your side...I'm not sure if I could ever repay you for everything you've done." 

"Aww, it’s nothin'," Jazz turned, and placed both hands on his friend's shoulder. "That's what friends are for, isn't it? Ya've done your fair share of fightin' and sneakin' and blowin' up Cons. You're an amazin' fighter, Prowl, an’ I liked to be at your side. Whatever I did, it was the least I could do fer ya. You've always meant a lot t’ me...an' I'd be a pitspawn of a mech if I wanted anythin' in return."

"But still..." Prowl's faceplates tightened. It just...didn't sit right with him. He locked optics with Jazz. "There has to be something I can do. You saved me from unemployment, Jazz—if I were left to rust in my home, I'd lose my mind from lack of productivity. Besides, I—"

He moved his lips to add more to it, but quickly clapped them shut and silenced his vocals. Prowl fretted speech before thought. Something twisted at the back of his mind, an inkling of an emotion niggling in his processors to the point he nearly thought he'd break. Had that always been there? It was a familiar feeling—something Prowl felt often when safe in Jazz's arms at night. Warmth, trust, longing...again he wondered, had that always been there? 

"Besides, ya what...?" The Elite's whole frame was engulfed in the bluish light reflecting off from the crystals - he looked almost unreal, as if he had been a ghost, an entity composed from spark energy, sent by the Allspark to punish or bless. His warm, steady hands, which used to point a gun toward enemy chests, and planted lethal bombs into facilities slipped from Prowl's shoulder to his chest, slowly, almost teasingly. "I knew that you'd drive yourself outta your processors; I couldn't bear t’ think of that. It hurt t’ see ya so restless. Ya were never nervous or scared before; always so calm, so cool. I admired that in ya." The hands came to rest on Prowl's waist, and Jazz moved a little closer. 

Prowl's vents hitched nervously on an intake as Jazz stepped a few inches nearer to him, optics briefly taking in the hands settled on his waist, arms encircling him on either side. He quickly turned his attention back to the saboteur in front of him. "Jazz...?" 

"What?" The Elite appeared be perfectly calm, slightly amused and a touch curious. "You’re awfully nervous...relax, Prowl. This is your fave place, isn't it? Everything’s fine, the war's long over. We're havin’ a new Cybertron for ourselves. I used to hold ya like this back then, didn't I? Ya act like it'd be different." 

_It would be different, back then, if I had a choice_... Prowl thought bitterly. But then, of course, they had to 'conserve energy' for the war. Helpful in one way...wasteful in another.

"...Do you remember those nights?" Prowl asked, moving to lean against the slightly taller mech, arms gravitating to Jazz's waist. "When we were by ourselves on long recons, stuck in recharge far from help? Nobody but us, our minds on the mission..." Prowl glanced up.

"Ironically, those were...some of the happiest times for me, during the War." 

"I feel the same, dear friend," Jazz said quietly, with a nod, and his hands felt a bit warmer against the thinner waist plating. "Ya talked to me when I got shot once... Remember that? Patched me up, made me rest for a li’l while. I like your voice; have I told ya that before? And y’know...sometimes it was just so fraggin' hard to keep my mind on the mission." 

Was it? Prowl tilted his head curiously. "What would you think about instead...?" 

"You, of course," Jazz's blue visor seemed to burn. Maybe it was just the trick of the light. "Ya're an awesome mech. All graceful an' deadly; I loved to watch you fight. And when we were rechargin' together you just felt so nice against me. I wished if only the war would end already, to tell ya. Those slagging restrictions kept us apart." 

Something in Prowl's systems sank and rose all at once. For Jazz to feel that way towards him...it was something Prowl had never gotten the chance to ask about. It had barely crossed his mind. They were always so busy fighting, and then that day, when he screwed up...they were so far apart...they were _always_ kept apart.

Prowl tugged at Jazz's waist, pulling him in. "But the War is over now," he pointed out. "Aren't we free to do what we like?" 

As rather smug smirk spread out on the saboteur's faceplates, and he leaned closer—now he was mere inches away. His skilled hands began to roam lazily, and he tilted his head to the side a tiny bit, peering at Prowl mischievously. "S'pose we are... Why, ya'd like to do something...?" 

Prowl was practically buzzing now. He was close enough that he could feel Jazz's energy nudging along his own, as radiant as the saboteur himself; full of life, full of enthusiasm. Prowl had always loved that about Jazz—even in the heat of battle, the white-armored mech was a riot—he would even crack a joke or two between shots if he had the chance. Where Prowl was cool and indifferent, Jazz was warm and vibrant: they were polarized opposites working together on the same path.

There went a saying somewhere that opposites attract. In all due fairness, it couldn't be held more true than it felt here.

Prowl smiled a rare, full smile. Gold-and-black hands pressed to Jazz's sides, moved purposefully over the other's chest armor. "I've always wondered what you really thought about me, Jazz; without those imposing restrictions." 

Jazz's vents huffed. "Prowl, my dear main mech—are ya gonna kiss me sometime this vorn, or am I to get some written order from th’ Supreme Command? At the moment, that's what I happen t’ think." 

Prowl's optics rolled. "Always impatient." he mumbled.

He reached up, cupping Jazz's face on either side and pulling him down. He didn't waste another second pressing his lips against the Elite's. It was without question the best choice Prowl had ever made; his field spiked against the saboteur's, and Jazz's rushed against him in return, the air warming and rippling around them from the mingling energies. 

The siren song of the crystals around them intensified, just like the humming of their vents. Jazz's energy patterns matched his personality; he was vibrant and warm, so alive. And he melted wonderfully against Prowl, hands pressing down, questing for hot spots, his glossa sliding against its counterpart. "Impatient, of course...!" He murmured, after breaking the heated contact for a little bit. "I've been waitin' for ya for so fraggin' long...! Have any idea how long fifty solar cycles can be? I never even knew if you lived or died!" 

"If memory serves, you actually had to wait _longer_ ," Prowl replied. "But that was because of my mistake..." the ninjabot pressed another kiss to Jazz's lips, sucking lightly on the saboteur's bottom lip, creating pressure, glossa running over the smooth strip in succession. "And I intend to make it up to you, Jazz." 

"Glad t’ hear..." The lighter frame shivered a bit, and Jazz let out a light, delightful moan. "'Cause I'm gettin’ deprived here...you've no idea how much work I have! And even if I tried, I couldn't find another chassis as fine as yours."

Prowl chuckled, idle fingers becoming active, beginning to roam over Jazz's armor and the sides of his helm, searching for any sensitive hot spots he might be able to exploit. At the same time, he drew himself as close as possible to the other mech, front-to-front with him, vents hissing warm air. "You flatter me, Jazz..." 

"You deserve it." The saboteur leaned his head into the caressing hands, rubbing his audio sensors against the gentle fingers. "Nnn, yess, that's good...Hey, let's drop down. We won't be able to stand straight for long, anyway..." 

"Agreed," Prowl hummed, winding an arm around Jazz's middle and letting his own weight take the Elite down with him. Methane gas puffed out in a wide ring around their landing place before it began to gather again, the cool wisps of smoke threading in-between the intensified choral chimes of the crystals. Prowl resumed his earlier attentions, paying special note to Jazz's audios with a light smirk on his face. "Hmm, you seem to like that," he purred. 

"'Course I do, ya sneaky mech, ya." Jazz's hands ventured upwards, to Prowl's shoulder armor. "I use my audios quite a bit; they're sensitive."

Prowl chuckled breathily, arching his back when sleek hands played over the wings curved back over his shoulders. He moaned his response, enveloping Jazz's lips in another passionate kiss, drawing him down at the waist, one hand wrapped around the back of Jazz's head over an audio sensor.

Oh, how long he had dreamt of this...the comfort of home and the love of his partner. Somewhere, Primus was smiling on him.

Just like the saboteur himself. The deft fingers continued mapping the wings, and continues questing, rubbing the golden chevron as well. Jazz's sensory grid was sizzling from the pleasure—he’d waited for it for so long... "Prowl," he murmured between kisses. "Prowl...dear friend...I love you. Always wanted this... Sorry for bein’ a coward..."

Prowl's temperature spiked slowly with each loving caress, his body turning all but to mush in Jazz's hands as he matched the saboteur rub for stroke. His lips glossed over Jazz's faceplates, just off the edges of his lips, as he spoke. "You were never a coward," Prowl murmured. His hips arched up and he pulled Jazz down, hissing pleasantly as friction over the sensitive front plate made his vents spit steam. Methane gas wisped over them in soft streams, wrapping them in like a blanket, prism color patterns breaking through the streaks, covering them in shapes and lines of rainbow. It was a sight of love and beauty like no other.

The white and blue mech was obviously delighted in Prowl's movements and noises and replied to them with his own. He guided the golden hands to his back, and his melodious voice gained volume with every touch. He sang—the tunes of love and affection, and most of all, pleasure. His graceful body moved against Prowl's with a rhythm—and the crystals around them hummed, a hymn meant just for the two of them, to celebrate their unison. 

The synch was perfect; their cores thrummed to the same rhythm already, sensory grid was melting, processors reeling, and suddenly, a brilliant light flared up—Jazz's chestplates opened, revealing his very spark.

The aquamarine crystals of the Helix Gardens seemed to line up perfectly with the flare of Jazz's spark. Through spiraling curls of methane and misty clouds, the light pouring out of the saboteur's chest bounced off every floating glass surface, each ray reflected a hundred-fold, bathing both mechs in light and warmth and intensifying Jazz's vibrant blue-white shine. Prowl had to dim his optics to keep from being blinded, and shuddered underneath his partner, gazing wide-eyed and wanton at Jazz's spark: bright, pulsing and alive, singing to him in a pinnacle of song. Everything that was Jazz lay inside that chassis—Prowl was standing at the gates of heaven, wide open and beckoning.

He offlined his optics, locks clicking back on his chestplates. He didn't question Jazz's certainty or his motives; he really didn't have to. Both of them were here, both of them knew what they wanted. Prowl's spark casing slid open, and the light grew brighter, warmer; both of them thrumming on the same rhythm, the same song.

_"Jazz...!"_

_"Prowl...!"_

Bright blue visor flared up in the darkness, and the ninjabot almost fell from the thick branch, on which, he decided to recharge tonight. Around him, leaves whispered on his beloved tree, and the dull noises of Detroit wrapped around him softly.

Gone were the beautiful gardens of his home sector with all their beauty—Decepticon troops swept over them sometime at the beginning of the war, shattering the carefully maintained crystal shapes. Prowl never even had the chance to see that place in its full glory, he only knew it from holograms and datapads...they tried to restore the softly singing clusters, but mere centuries were not enough. It would take millions of years until Helix would return to its original grandeur. 

And gone was the white-blue frame of the saboteur, his melodious voice, his warm touch...his love for his old comrade.

It took a second or two for Prowl to fully slip back into reality, but when it hit him, his faceplates pulled tight and his vents rumbled in a tired sigh. His core temperature was up and his energy was spiking—only slightly, it would wear off with time—but it was enough to leave a lingering bittersweet reminder of the world beneath his recharge.

His love was not gone, only redirected. In recharge it poured out of him in ample waves; here it was pulled back into his spark, kept inside him and pounding so hard it ached. Those slagging dreams again! Why, just once, couldn’t he get any peace? Lately, they’d been growing in their intensity and the vividness with which he experienced them...and had been increasing in frequency. Prowl hated these dreams. They broke him off at the height of opportunity; he had been so close, so fragging close. Jazz...he could still _feel_ Jazz, could feel the phantom ghosts of his spark energy thrumming rhythmically against his chassis. The dreams mocked him, held him bound before his greatest desire. He could look, and touch, and kiss, and dream, but never take.

Prowl's radios blipped him with an incoming message. The ninjabot sighed, pressing the sides of his audios. Optimus was in the middle of giving him an explanation, but Prowl didn't want to hear it. He asked if he needed to be there, and Optimus said yes. Prowl said he would be on his way.

He jumped gracefully down from the tree, still warm from that painfully sweet dream, transforming into his alt-mode to drive off towards his companions. He was needed there.

Many light years away, on a shining, mechanoid planet known as Cybertron, a proud Elite Guard was sitting on his berth, with both hands placed firmly over his chest, while his bright visor pierced through the darkness of his quarters, as if searching for something.

"Prowl...?"


	28. Snapshots of the Night 01

"Who the Pit does he thinks he is?!" Bulkhead's massive green form was trembling from suppressed tension as he sat on the floor, his fingers digging into the concrete. "We've been getting our afts handed to us by the Decepticons here, and he refuses to believe we're telling the truth! That glitch-head—how did he manage to become a Prime at all?!"

Needless to say, the gentle giant was not a bit pleased by Sentinel's attitude. It angered him with no end, how the cocky Elite had handled his friends. If it had been only him, he wouldn't have complained; but _nobody_ , especially not some grinning scrapheap with an overinflated ego, had the right to mouth off to Optimus! 

"C'mon, Bulkhead, let it go," Bumblebee said, trembling himself with anger, but for a slight and fundamentally different reason. "He'll get what's coming to 'im. We'll prove the Decepticons were here, and then we can rub his face in it!" He turned to the blue and red mech beside him.

"Right, Optimus? We can find solid proof, right?" 

"A cold, offline body would make a very good start indeed," the young leader replied darkly—his nerves had been worn thin by his former friend's colorful insults. Sentinel's behavior made him angry and sad beyond belief. Why was he still treating him like an enemy, and why couldn't he leave the crew out of it?

Ultra Magnus' wisdom and logic was like warm energon on his troubled mind, though; it soothed him a bit, and the commander's praise was definitely an honor. Prime sighed, and looked at Bumblebee. "I'm afraid the only way to prove it would be either to catch a signal of them, or see them. Maybe they'll come out for more fragments, if they're still here and haven't left, thinking the Allspark gone. Maybe Megatron himself died, too; we cannot be sure...though I won't make bets on it." 

"I can't stand the thought of it," snarled Ratchet, literally steaming at the seams. "That young sparkling deserves a good zapping from these old magnets!" Still growling, "Much as I hate to admit it, Prime and Ultra Magnus are in the right; unless we can find substantial _proof_ the Decepticons are still around, the chances of us bein' the believable party are slim to none."

"Then we'll keep our optics peeled!" Bee cried animatedly. "The next time they come for an Allspark shard, we'll get a piece of them, or—or something! They can't keep calling us liars forever, right?"

Prowl just stood silently, listening to the words his fellow comrades speak. He stared distantly ahead of him, arms crossed. "But until we find evidence, it would be wise of us all to keep our heads level. We can't allow any instances where excuses can be found to confirm our so-called lies." 

Optimus took a deep intake of air to cycle it through his insides. "Prowl's right; Sentinel's rather... unique approach toward us got everybody riled up, but he _is_ a member of the Elite Guard, and he's the Commander's trusted soldier." _Was he really saying this?_ "You're free to bash in his faceplates—in your dreams. Let us have some good recharge time...though, first and foremost, I'd like to thank all of you for how you tried to step up for me, and your excellent work at the factory. Again, every one of you has proven yourselves in battle, and I'm proud of you all." He smiled; a real smile. "Somehow, we'll prove ourselves. We're not going down for a crime we did not commit." 

Ratchet, Prowl and Bumblebee all nodded their heads, each in various levels of enthusiasm. Eventually, the five of them dispersed to deal with their own issues; Bumblebee took to following after his mate, clinging to his arm.

"Sure you don't want me to slip a nasty present in his recharge berth or something, Optimus?" asked Bee wickedly. "It'll be a fast job, in and out, nobody will notice..." 

The young leader actually laughed a bit, and drew the scout closer. "As tempting the offer is I'll have to refuse. Don't try anything with him—it could get us more glitching, and maybe even Ultra Magnus' ire. Not worth it. And, I'd rather have a surprise in _my_ berth, you know. Something...compact...if you're catching my drift." 

Bumblebee's grin widened and he snuggled closer to Prime. "Something just my size maybe?" he purred. 

"I think that'll do." Optimus nodded and, with a sudden move, swept his companion up into his arms. "I love you," he said simply. The slender frame was warm against him, and his spark was fluttering happily. Having a mate was a wonderful thing. "You know...we could try something different tonight. I thought about going on slowly. _Very_ slowly, until our circuits melt...after today, I think I can allow myself a bit of luxury; if you're up to it, of course." 

The yellow scout shuddered, and leaned up to nip lightly at Prime's neck. "You don't even have to _ask_ , Prime," he snickered, twisting sensually in his lover's arms. "Anything you wanna do I'm willing to try..." 

Optimus grinned. "Oooh, yes. I'm going to make you melt into a little yellow puddle, my star. And consider this a threat."

The scout snickered again. "But I'll make you melt _with_ me," Bee replied as they reached Optimus' room. To prove his point, Bumblebee pushed himself up a bit on Prime's shoulders, and very slowly ran his glossa over the young leader's jaw, ending the trail with a kiss and placing a few more just around the base of one audio. 

The taller mech shivered from the pleasure that coursed though him. Bee's every touch on his audios could make his processors buzz from sensory stimulation and honestly, he loved it. For a fleeting moment, his thoughts returned to Sentinel; the poor fool; he’d probably never experience a bliss such as this. "You're welcome to try," he whispered to his mate and shut the door behind them to close out everything and everybody. 

 

Time passed; the moon wandered on the dark sky. The huge crumbling building was dark, though not perfectly silent. Among other things, the huge plasma screen in the living room was on. Bulkhead lay in front of it, on his broad belly, flipping channels. He couldn't recharge, so he started to roam the corridors and eventually caught some noises; which only made him more restless. So he settled down with the television and tried to distract his thoughts.

"You couldn't rest either, kid?" spoke a familiar grumbling voice.

Bolts and screws squeaked at the hinges as Ratchet sat down beside Bulkhead, giving a long sigh through his vents as he did. "Don't blame ya; got a lot to think about now, with everything that's happened." 

"And everything that's happening," Bulkhead mumbled unhappily, moving a little bit closer to the medic. "Ratchet...what can they do to us if we can't find the Cons...? And what will they do to Boss-Bot...?" He was worried for all his comrades. It wasn't fair! They faced Megatron—the biggest, meanest Decepticon ever—they saved Earth, and what did they get? A slagging disinfectant shower.

Ratchet grumbled at the thought, a deep frown on his face. He leaned back, creaking a bit. "Well, kid, to tell you the truth, I'm not very sure." He sighed through his vents, "But as for Prime...I'm sure they'll probably take him before the Council for going AWOL." 

"Why is everything so fragging _hard_ , Ratchet?" Bulkhead whined quietly. "We could have died! We risked our lives, and now people hate us and the Elite Guard hates us. Why can't something go well just once? Why can't we just have what we _deserve_ or...the things we like so much we'd be willing to beat twice as many cons for them?" 

"The Elite Guard doesn't hate us, Bulkhead," Ratchet grumbled, "That's just Sentinel." He shook his head. "At any rate, best we can do is fix it in steps, little by little. I don't doubt we'll get our chance to prove everything, but, like Prowl said...keep it cool until that happens."

There was a brief moment of quiet, while Ratchet tilted his head in thought. His optics brightened a bit and he tapped his chin. "Incidentally, have you noticed anything... _strange_ about...Bumblebee lately?" 

"Aside that he's as happy as a glitch-mouse in the storage and is interfacing with Prime every other night?" The giant inquired, and there was a hint of resentment in his voice. "Nah, nothing unusual..." 

Ratchet frowned, sensing the distaste in Bulkhead's tone. "Had it in for the little 'bot, did you...?"

The young wrecker stirred and curled up, hiding his face behind his massive forearms. He nodded and let out a long sigh. "It... hurts. Sometimes it hurts so much, Ratchet," he whispered. "I want him so much, but he'll never be mine; he's Prime's. And it's okay, really—I love to see him happy, and sometimes we can even mess around a bit; but..." his voice broke with sparkling clicks and he curled up even more. 

The medic reached over to put a companionable hand on Bulkhead's shoulder. "I...know that it hurts, right now, Bulkhead, and you probably won't believe me when I tell you this...but one day, it won't bother you anymore. You may even find some other 'bot you're interested in. But as for Bumblebee..." Ratchet sighed again, "You should keep being happy for him, keep supporting him. He'll always be your friend, you know, and it goes without sayin' that that'll be enough." 

"I...know," Bulkhead managed to get out between two clicks. "I've watched enough soap operas...it's really not that I'm jealous or anything. Just...whenever I see him smiling at Optimus, I wish there were somebody smiling at me like that—you know? Having him around and you and the rest and Sari is great, and sometimes I thank Primus that he's so kind to me; but...maybe I'm selfish and don't know where to stop, but, _I'd_ like to have a mate, too." 

"There's nothin' selfish about wanting a mate, Bulkhead." Ratchet sat back a bit more, a wistful expression on his face. "When I was young, I was like you. I wanted someone who would appreciate me like those two appreciate each other. In the end, I'm sure every 'Bot is like that." He turned his head, smiling at the younger green mech.

"An' ya know what? It's...the _greatest_ feeling in the _world_ , Bulkhead. And even if you won't end up with Bee, you should save that bond for someone you really feel for. Understand? A spark's a precious thing; it's not to be wasted on spontaneous bonds."

"Hnn, I know that. Our sparks are special, and I really don't want to give mine to somebody I don't really like. I'm not that much of a fool. I'll try to get over Bee...after all, I don't really have a choice." He sighed and, very gently, he tapped at Ratchet's chestplate. "Your spark is bonded, right...?" 

Ratchet nodded, looking down at his chestplate and brushing a hand over it briefly. "He's far away right now, though, my bonded; haven't seen 'im in a long time." 

"It must be hard for you, too," the green giant murmured, and carefully curled an arm around the medic. "Tell me about him, if you don't mind? Why did you do it?" He liked the stories with many emotions, in the TV, and in real life, too. Bee and Optimus were lovely when they smiled at each other or let a touch linger. They gave off nice vibes from their sparks. 

The medic gave a long sigh. "I did it because I loved him," he answered, reminiscent as his mind slipped into the past. "I still do. His name's Ironhide..." Ratchet kept a hand on Bulkhead's shoulder, but he stared straight ahead, looking distant. "Boisterous mech; can get very short-tempered if ya irritate 'im enough. He always landed 'imself in the med-bay with some part of him or another broken. I met 'im that way, while I was training to be a medic." 

"Ironhide..." Bulkhead echoed thoughtfully then his optics brightened. "Oh, I think I've seen him back at the camp where I met Bee the first time. Not for long, though." He shifted closer; Ratchet could feel the warmth his frame radiated. "Ratchet...what happens when two mechs spark-bond? I totally freaked out when Bee told me about it first, and I'm still...uneasy about it." 

"Ah, well..." Ratchet paused, pressing his lips tight. "When you bond sparks with someone, both of your sparks momentarily merge, and become one—you then share each other's memories and experiences through the bond, and when it's created, your sparks separate again. From that point on, though, it's as if the two of you are always a single unit. Your sparks call to each other; give you an open window into each other's emotions." 

"Woooow..." Bulkhead was impressed. "That sounds wonderful. So intimate and...strong." He promptly hugged the medic; he always had a deep respect for the grouchy old Bot; but now, he really understood what was behind the constant grumbling. His spark gave a twist, arching up in its casing by instinct, wanting to comfort the other nearby.

Ratchet blinked at the hug, but didn't reject it. In fact, he smiled warmly and wound an arm around Bulkhead as best he could. "It is," he agreed with a murmur. He could tell the other was trying to comfort him, and was glad for the concern.

"Aaah, I've gone soft on all of you," he grumbled, "Too late to take it back now, though." 

"I think we all love you, whether you're grumbling or not," the young wrecker smiled. "You're an awesome bot, Ratchet. Thanks for talking to me...I feel better. And I hope you'll meet Ironhide soon." 

Ratchet mumbled under his breath and rubbed Bulkhead's helm. "Anytime," he replied.

His vents sighed with another whirr and he shook his head. This was all well and good, but he still couldn't get his mind off of Bumblebee—there was definitely something wrong with the little 'bot, and it bothered Ratchet that he couldn't figure out what. There had been a rather...indecent approach from the young 'bot several orns ago, and Primus help him if he couldn't resist; but since then, Ratchet's systems were experiencing little glitches, and recharge was getting more and more restless for him, a problem he had never even known of until now.

"Bulkhead...have your systems been...functioning alright, lately?" He glanced at the mech. "Ya haven't been experiencing any, ah...little glitches, here and there, have you?" 

The giant pulled back a little and hummed. "Well, I've been feeling a little tired lately, and I think my spark's acting up a bit, but I figured it was because of the emotional stuff." He frowned lightly. "Bee's weirder. I mean, last time we were, uh...playing at first, but then he just started to mess with my neck. Not that I'm complaining—but he offlined me, it was so strong, and he isn’t usually that demanding." 

Ratchet frowned contemplatively. "...And did the fatigue and weird spark behavior happen to start _after_ Bee offlined you like that?" 

"Err...I guess, around that, yeah." Bulkhead blinked. "What's on your mind...?" 

The medic made another low grumble. It was just as he'd thought. "Because Bumblebee did somethin' similar with me, and now my system's been glitching up. I'm concerned because it means that Bee might have some sort of..." he leered quickly at Bulkhead, raising a hand in assurance, "Now don't get fussy in a panic, but I think it might be a virus...and if it's gonna harm us, I wanna try and find how it started and figure out a way to fix it." 

The giant blinked, optics widening slightly. "Uhh...okay...not panicking, not panicking...but, we get viruses from computers usually, don't we? Bee doesn't really plug into anything; he just pokes them, like his video games. And our firewalls are supposed to keep anything weak out of our systems. How in the Pit did he get a virus?"

"I...don't know," Ratchet admitted with a frown. "But I've run several system checks on 'im, and I didn't pick out anything technically unusual." He paused for a moment, tapping his chin thoughtfully. His processors whirred overtime in his head while he tried to spit out a conclusion; and he finally reached one after a cycle or two.

"Maybe...the problem isn't mechanical. It's possible the virus is some sort of organic infection...it's the only thing that fits." Ratchet crinkled his brow. "But, organic infection wouldn't be physically possible, unless—"

 _Clunk._ Something hit in his processors, and Ratchet's optics widened. _NO. You're kidding—I thought we got rid of that pesky issue?!_

"What?" Bulkhead asked, growing worried and alarmed. "What is it? The only organic trouble we've ever met was Blackarachnia and the barnacles—" Now, something stated to tick in his processors as well. "Overload, that's a lot of energy, isn't it...?" 

"And if it's the barnacles, then they're probably feeding on it..." Ratchet's faceplates tightened and he hissed. _And Bumblebee's infection was right over his spark chamber._

This was bad. This was very bad. "...Bulkhead, I think I'm gonna need your help with a few things soon. I'll have to bring Bee in for a more thorough examination, and...we'll need to keep 'im still." 

"He...Bee has _barnacles_." Bulkhead looked positively disgusted. "That's _gross_! And he—Primus, he passed it over to _all_ of us, except Prowl! If he's lucky enough..." He clicked. "Optimus—they’ve been doing it ever since...! Hey, Ratchet, how about starting with me? I mean, I'm here, and I won't wiggle. Sure, we need to get Bee, too, but it might not be easy. You know how he hates check-ups." 

Ratchet wasn't so sure about Prowl, as he'd been infected, as well, but he said nothing else on the matter. "Alright, alright...but it's late right now, so let's try to start first thing tomorrow. Any 'bot will function better after at least attempting to get some rest." _And it'll give me some time to think up some theories and methods on how to approach this_ , Ratchet thought. 

"Okay," Bulkhead nodded seriously. "I guess we shouldn't say anything to the Elite yet. They might get edgy if they get to know about it...you've seen how Sentinel reacts to humans." 

"Sentinel is the _last_ bot I intend to inform," Ratchet grumbled. It was cruel, but true—for more than one reason. The main one being that he didn't want to hear Sentinel's grumbling and panicking while he tried to work out a cure. "But Ultra Magnus will need to know once I've found a way to combat the virus." 

"They're not in any real danger, after all," the giant mused. "Bee wouldn’t try to go after them, right?" _No, of course not_ , Bulkhead thought. At least the Elite had nothing to fear.


	29. Snapshots of the Night 02

He was _here_.

He was really, truly, honest to Primus _here_ , on _Earth_.

Prowl couldn't sleep, knowing that.

It was too hard to concentrate on anything besides Jazz's face, his voice, his entire physical _being_. Everyone and everything he'd ever wanted had arrived on this planet, and after the fiasco at the Sumdac plant, Prowl had been given the perfect blessed opportunity to pull the Elite Guard aside; to confess everything, apologize for what he'd done wrong, promise Jazz the world and beg for his companionship, if he had to. But no—the moment came and went in silence, the both of them shifting awkwardly around each other in a stiff dance. Jazz had given him looks like he'd been shot in the spark, like _he_ had been the one to injure him, and it struck Prowl down cold.

The cyberninja sighed and leaned heavily against the thick tree trunk in the center of his room, staring up at the rustling leaves breaking through the roof into the night sky. Jazz; he was full of him. Flashes of his dreams rushed vividly through his mind, and it was impossible to dismiss them as false. Prowl's systems ran a few cycles faster just imagining it all—how Jazz had held him so close, touched him, pleased him, expressed profound affection and singular devotion to _him_ , and _only_ him. 

Why was there silence when there should have been a song? Why was there distance instead of a touch, looks of anguish instead of smiles? Maybe Jazz...maybe Jazz got fed up with him finally, deleted the fond memories from his memory core and went on his merry way, never sparing a glance back over his polished shoulder? Prowl winced. He should have been... He should have been _better_ ; smarter; something to be proud of and not a glitch-head, who screwed up and then hid away from the world, forgetting how to work together with others, becoming a cold-sparked drone. It hurt so much that Jazz wasn't smiling. Prowl knew he'd die for those smiles from _back then_ ; for the laugher which echoed back from his dreams.

He snuggled closer to the tree, the roots cradling him like welcoming arms. He missed Jazz; missed him even more than when he was still far away; and it hurt so terribly worse than Meltdown's acid. It tore at his spark, the spark that was twisting in its casing now; wailing with pain and an incredible need...Jazz. _Jazz, Jazz, dear friend..._

Sinking between the thick old roots, the pain of loss and loneliness hit Prowl hard. He held his head in his hands, curling up like a hurt sparkling and hiding his face from the world. He'd retreated from most of society because he'd believed that loneliness would grant him strength and peace of mind.

He hadn't even begun to realize how wrong it could be until everything that embodied his deepest desires stood right in front of him, fought alongside him just like back then.

He wasn't even thinking as his hands began to shift. His mind wandered backwards, to the long nights and longer missions—just the two of them, no one else, curling together for warmth as they dodged enemy sights for another orn. Jazz would stroke the sleek shoulder pieces comfortingly as they nestled together, to keep Prowl from going mad with worry. Even before retreating, he'd always been deadly serious and calculating, so much so that his fellow cyberninja would always scold him for it.

_Relax, Prowl_. His words echoed from the past into the present, a ghost of a hand replacing the shameful reality as Prowl laid his fingers in slow strokes against the wing-like shoulder piece. _It'll be a piece o' oil cake._

Prowl let out a soft sound. _But the calculations—_

_We've gone over 'em a thousand times already. Man, even meditating, you're all stiff. Stop thinking so much...you're so wired..._

Beneath those caressing fingers, the darker frame slowly let go of the tension indeed. 

_Mmm...You are definitely distracting, my friend._

Jazz snickered. _Just bein' my adorable self, like always..._

He continued caressing the shoulder pieces, his touch light and warm; it made Prowl shiver and let out a small, appreciative growl. Those caresses were his undoing; they made him forget about everything.

_Jazz...we're on a mission. We should focus._

_On each other_ , the saboteur replied with a smirk. _Come on, this cover is perfectly safe._

_Jazz, no! Even if it is, the restrictions...!_

_**Relax** , Prowl. _

And the caresses continued, firmer, the strokes longer. In the real world, Prowl let out a tiny moan as he got completely lost in his own world of should-have-been. Doing this—pleasuring himself—was not new to him anymore. He got quite used to it lately, while daydreaming like he was doing it now, digging up sweet old memories and altering them for a moment of bliss. 

He was oddly silent; he didn't make much noise when alone; a curious little trait. Perhaps it tied back to his soldier days, when he needed to keep silent, even when panicked or in pain. 

_That's it...just like that, you relax..._

Slight, long strokes became pressing caresses on his frame. His spark pulsed faster in its casing and he squirmed lightly in encouragement, his fantasies beginning to spill into his conscious hold on reality. He imagined Jazz held against him, nuzzling his throat and kissing it, hands moving ever slowly lower on his frame. Prowl arched and pressed on his chestplates with a hiss.

_Ahh, like that, do ya?_

_Tease_ , Prowl grumbled.

Jazz laughed at him and there was an apologetic circular rub against the armor. _You don't seem t' mind..._

_It's entirely too hard to do that, the grumbling reply came. You know me all too well...and I love you too much._

A happy little gasp: _Say it again._

Prowl smiled. "I love you."

_Love it when ya say that_ , Jazz chuckled. _I suppose this deserves some extra treatment._

Fingers slid down on black and golden armor, smoothing, caressing with just the right pressure, to finally rest on the plating between the legs. Prowl's slender body tensed up, and his vents hummed loudly. 

_J-Jazz..._

_Relax_ , the saboteur whispered lovingly. _Lemme spoil ya rusted...dear Prowl...my beloved._

The melodious voice rang in his audios like the sweetest music, and the ninjabot curled up into a ball, like a sparkling. 

His systems thrummed under the rising heat, trying in vain to cool off as the hand pressed and rubbed in slow circles against the gold armor plate between his legs. Prowl's mouth dropped open in a silent moan and he shuddered. _I love you, he said. I love you, Jazz...love you so much..._

His spark gave a wrenching twist at the answering words. _I know, I know...love you too, Prowl...always did._

One hand grasped a shoulder piece again and the hand on his frontplate stroked more firmly, and Prowl arched into the simulated touch with a muted whimper, mentally repeating his declaration until it was embedded in the fantasy. Jazz's voice materialized in his mind and murmured to him, assuring him, loving him; saying sweet nothings and singing soft tunes.

The ninjabot let out several tiny whimpers as the intensity of the caresses grew, stimulating the sensitive circuitry beneath his armor plating. He was trembling in his friend's arms, silently begging for more, that sweet bliss. Overload came closer and closer; warning signs flashed, energy fields and core temperature spiked. Jazz's smooth lips sealed Prowl's, glossa sweeping all over the insides of his mouth; the saboteur moaned, hummed, and his hands never stopped. 

Prowl was already balancing on the edge, his sensors already on fire, brimming with input; the air trembled around his frame from the heat. His spark was thrashing in his chest in the clutches of the excess energy, and after a few agonized moments, Prowl let go of it; let the surge sweep over his body; every nerve and circuit melting on the sensory grid. His mouth opened to a silent cry as he tensed, but only a broken whisper drifted out into the air: 

"Jazz…!"

A crackle of energy snapped out over Prowl's chassis and as the energy slowly dispersed, Prowl sank against the roots of the tree. Nothing answered him but silence and the down-winding thrum of his systems and vents.

Jazz's voice dissipated; the fantasy broke. Nothing was left but he and his trembling hands, and a distinct sense of remorse as the sensation of post-overload settled in.

Prowl stared up at the rustling leaves that broke through the roof, then offlined his optics and curled with a wanton moan. _Maybe_ , he thought. _Maybe there is a chance. There has to be a chance._ He couldn't have ruined his shots at Jazz that terribly, right? Somewhere in his spark, Jazz must still have some sort of appreciation for him. It couldn't totally be gone.


	30. Snapshots of the Night 03

Slivers of moonlight painted patterns over Prowl’s armor as they penetrated the canopy of the leaves. That very same moon was watching the alien vessel where the Elite Guard resided, curiously, as it hung above Detroit in the night sky. The silvery rays carefully mapped the smooth metallic surface and peeked in through the large windows, stealing a glance at corridors and deck. 

However, the cabins of the crew were located deeper inside the ship's belly; the curious moon couldn't glance at the white-black saboteur curled upon his berth. Jazz was wide awake, his processors turning, spark twisting. Recharge escaped him completely; his thoughts kept him online, denying him a good night's rest.

He'd planned since departing on this trip on seeing Prowl again—he'd spent orns pacing his quarters, rehearsing a response, ways to say how much he missed him and how much he wished they could be friends again. He'd thought that maybe it could all work out in his favor when he found, even at a glance, that Prowl was much more social now than the last time he'd seen him.

But Optimus—that young mech—he and Prowl...the way Prowl smiled at him just stood out sorely in his mind's eye. Jazz had spent the last several Earth hours trying to rationalize. It was nothing, he told himself, nothing at all. He was reading too much into it, he was being too paranoid. But then Prime helped the ninjabot up, and he kept smiling, a genuine smile, gripped his hand tightly and just...

Jazz turned restlessly again with a low grumble. It shouldn't hurt this much. Prowl had made clear long ago just how much he appreciated social contact—of any sort. Obviously, he'd moved on. That was a good thing. He should be _happy_ for his old friend.

But, slaggit, he wasn't.

It wasn’t fair. Prowl had betrayed him! He just danced away and hooked up with his commander, the slagheap! He couldn't even send a message, he never even said thanks to Jazz for his help! Even if that blasted mech left without looking back, never sparing another glance to him and disappearing in the void of space, Jazz had waited for him patiently; hoping that, one day, they'd be together again. He kept missing him, and ignored all the others who might have wanted to get closer to him, even wanted to share a berth. The saboteur had faithfully waited for the ninja, humming songs which reminded him of Prowl when alone. When he had dreams about those times, he was happy. 

The white and black mech's head knocked against the wall lightly and he let a deep intake cool his insides. Now, that was stupid. He couldn't be angry with Prowl. It's not that he had any claims on the ninja. But it still hurt, seeing that smile when it wasn’t shining for him. Not like back in those times; not like back in that dream... Oh, that beautiful dream. When Prowl wound an arm around his waist and caressed his audios...

He was always so slow, so methodical. Prowl would take his time; spend several moments on his audios before moving elsewhere. It was such a wonderful feeling. It was everything Jazz had ever pictured Prowl to be like, had they ever taken that step to go further.

But the sad fact was, they never did—so these daydreams and nightly fantasies, it seemed, were now all he had. Daydreams, simulated touches, an imagined voice and notes in a song. Still, it was enough.

The dream began to replay in his memories; he was standing in a room, a private room, Prowl standing in front of him, arms wound around him. His dreams never make clear whose room it is, but it didn't matter much, once those fingers started working on his audios—loving strokes and presses on the seams of the design, making his hearing go abuzz with static while he tilted his head into the touch with an encouraging groan. _I'm glad you took time out of your busy schedule to see me like this,_ echoes the voice. In his mind, Prowl smiled at him. _It gets insufferable, being stuck here all alone._

_'Course,_ Jazz replied through the shudders. _Couldn't stand t' letcha rust in a corner..._

_I want you to know how thankful I am for pulling me out of the slag,_ Prowl said seriously. _And I want you to know that no matter how far I'll be, I'll always think of you fondly._ He leaned closer, kissing the saboteur's audio module. Jazz shivered. 

_I'll be thinking of you too, Prowl._

_Thank you,_ the whisper came. _I'll come back to you one day, I promise. And then we'll be together again...friends...partners...like before._ Deft fingers circled Jazz's chest, and he wound his arms around that incredibly slender dark waist. Prowl was so elegant with that sleek paintjob. 

_Promise me, Jazz. Promise me that you'll be fine while we'll be apart...and that you’ll finish your training._ They were both learning still, trying to catch up with martial arts as the war raged on.

_I promise._

Whether or not the promise was real didn't matter—Jazz still kept it, to the best of his ability. He finished his training, gained recognition to rise a little higher in the ranks of the Elite Guard.

_And_ you _promise me you won't get rusty on that construction job,_ Jazz chuckled at him.

_Me? Rusty? Never,_ Prowl joked, tracing his fingers over the headlights and the silver decor pieces just above them. Jazz shuddered. Prowl...

_Yes?_ The ninjabot asked lightly, those hands still wandering even as he's pulled closer. Jazz never outright said anything; he just enjoyed hearing the truth coming out of Prowl's vocals.

_Bein' sneaky again, are ya?_

_Sneaky? This isn't sneaky. This is a thank-you. So,_ Prowl maneuvered Jazz so he could stand to nip playfully at his throat, _Sit back and let me thank you already._

Jazz stepped back, pulling his friend—his love—with, right to the berth, to be more comfortable. His insides were buzzing with anticipation, his vents humming, spark pulsing eagerly.

_Make sure ya thank me well, Prowl... You'll be gone for quite a while. I wanna remember how ya feel. Please?_ It was not above him to beg. He wanted more kisses; he wanted those slender, deadly hands sliding along his body, caressing his backside and thighs. He let out a trembling sigh as he rested his forehead against the dark chestplates.

_Ya probably won't believe but...ya were the one who kept me goin' back then,_ he confessed. Of course, he was a strong mech on his own right: stable and persistent, with excellent training...but Prowl had been the core of his own tranquility. The ninjabot's calmness flowed right into him, grounded him, gave him strength to keep on and be a riot; the unstoppable lightning. Together, they were the best. 

_Is that so?_ Prowl asked, nuzzling Jazz's throat, nipping and kissing in small places. _Well, you were the one who kept me going..._ Those dark hands traced the rims of his headlights again, causing Jazz to shudder, and moved steadily lower—rubbing and massaging methodical circles into the manipulative metal surface of his torso, over his sides and his stomach.

_G—Guess that makes us even_ , he managed, between the shivers of delight and the periodic moans every time Prowl kissed and nipped and ran his glossa over sensitive points, mirroring the attentions below with slender, skilled fingers.

_Prowl...This feels wonderful._ His head rolled back and he moaned aloud. His vents were growling steadily, trying to cool the already overheated insides. 

_I love you,_ Jazz whispered and smiled at the quiet chuckle which replied.

_I love you too. Always have. Always will._

The saboteur's spark leapt up, squirming in joy; in the next moment, though, Jazz's back arched and he cried out. Prowl's glossa suddenly relocated much lower; Jazz could feel it running along the centerline of his frame and finally stopping at the red arrow-mark on his lower belly. The nimble piece of metal flicked against it and the black and white ninja's spine arched. He was tossing his head, repeating that dear name on his melodious voice, encouraging the other.

_Prowl...aah, Prowl, yes! Please...dear Prowl...!_

There was no objection at all and, in fact, the attentions merely increased. Calculated nips and kisses to the arrow and the two bright strips above it rained down in regular intervals; Prowl traced the marks with his tongue, placed open kisses on their edges and filled the spaces by kissing even more. His hands, in the meanwhile, served to press against Jazz's quivering hips while he practically _melted_ under the other, making a perfect arch with his back and moaning between every heated sigh.

Slowly, slowly, it all built; Jazz's systems heated rapidly and his vents were useless against the fever, while his spark twisted and fluttered in his chest, reaching for a mate that was never there. At last, Prowl's ministrations grew to the point where Jazz peaked and all the energy he'd built up blossomed in a spread—frying every node and grid and sensor that made up his physical being in a blissful wave that left him sinking against the berth.

He lay there, vents roaring, trying to normalize the temperature as he curled up; enjoying the last moments while his spark just fluttered in its casing in contentment; before reality set in and he was alone again in the darkness. Without the comforting presence of the mech he kept waiting for so long; and who was never going to come back to him. 

For a few astro-seconds, he was worried if maybe the others heard—but Sentinel was hard to rouse once he sank into recharge, and the Commander's cabin was located further down the corridor. 

And besides, it was empty anyway. The proud figurehead of the Autobot armed forces had snuck out a bit earlier, right to the decks. He commanded the door tightly shut to stare up at the alien moon above their ship; so different from the one back on Cybertron... 

He settled down at the communications panels and, after involuntarily throwing a glance back at the door, switched them on. Back at Cybertron, it was late afternoon; the one whom he wanted to call was surely available. Ultra Magnus made sure the channel was secured, and would be directed to the right place—he certainly didn't want anybody else to get wind of it. 

Soon enough, within a few moments, the panels flickered and created a window into a small, cluttered room with a recharge berth and simple furnishings. The red and orange mech that occupied it instantly perked up from his tired state at the sight of the caller.

"Ultra Magnus!" Hot Rod beamed at him, responding mindfully in a low tone, "How are you doing? What a surprise to see you...!" 

'To attention, cadet!" The commander said firmly. Though, if one looked close, there were playful flames flickering in his optics. "You surely didn't think I'd utilize the transmitter for some private matter?" 

Hot Rod merely grinned and gave a proper salute. "No, of _course_ not, sir," he replied lightly. 

Ultra Magnus smiled. "To answer your question though, I'm doing splendid, Hot Rod. How are you doing? Did anything happen on training since I left?" It was neat to have an 'informant' among the cadets; one who so looked up to him, nonetheless! Magnus knew there would be no gossip, not a single incident that won't be reported to him. 

But all the perks aside, it warmed his spark to see his...protégé, so to speak. The youngster's faceplates shone; the commander could almost feel the radiance of his spark. He was a beautiful young mech. 

"Everything's going alright;" Hot Rod answered, "though, I'm exhausted! I thought it was hard in the Academy. I'm stiff from training." His expression, which had dropped tiredly at the mention, steeled and he clenched his fist. "But I'll make it, no doubt! I didn't come all this way just to slack off now."

At that, Hot Rod paused for a moment; and he was soon serious again. "There've been a few bits of talk," he said, speaking carefully, "about the Decepticon factions. Some of the higher officers have been saying there's a due chance some of the rogue groups might start to break out and rebel. They think the 'Cons are trying to revitalize their cause. It's got some of the other ensigns really worried."

Magnus frowned. "Decepticons..." This was not good. Yes, Optimus mentioned that; he blamed their enemies with being responsible of the 'dispersing' of the Allspark. But the scanners didn't get anything—not the slightest trace of Decepticon signatures in the vicinity. 

"That's definitely not very good news. I'd like you to keep an audio module open for more rumors; I'll try to call, if the command center doesn't contact me. It is possible they won't think it's important enough to get me worried about it. Perhaps it's just a false alarm." _I hope to Primus it is, at least._

_It has to be,_ was the first thought Hot Rod had. "I'll keep listening. But, even if it's not a false alarm, a bunch of small leaderless factions should be easy to contain, right?" 

"A faction is seldom leaderless, Hot Rod," Magnus corrected. "The only thing we can hope for is that they indeed won't join under one powerful mastermind who could forge an effective strike force of them. Small groups, we can deal with those, though. Since their great Megatron is dead..." he hesitated for a moment. "...Without him, they won't be able to become as powerful again as they were. We don't have to worry. They know well what it'd mean to breach Autobot space." His expression softened. "Don't let it deter you, my youngling. Concentrate on your training for now." 

Hot Rod nodded his head. "I will," he promised, adding with a smile, "I intend to, anyhow." 

That smile...it was impossible to withstand. Magnus smiled as well, his index finger idly tracing the edge of the communications screen. "How are the teachers? Are the others any good?" 

"The teachers are okay. Some are stricter than others..." Hot Rod tilted his head, "And the ensigns are all good, I suppose, except there are a couple who just don't play fair sometimes. But they're usually reprimanded, and they're starting to settle down a bit." 

"Young rebels..." the commander mused fondly, "They'll learn. The mechs I left there taking care of you are the best. Now, aside you’re being tired...is there anything you might want to tell me?" 

Hot Rod broke into an innocent grin. "That I miss you and wish you were here?" 

"Ah, well. It would certainly be flattering to hear something like that." 

"Okay," Hot Rod leaned forward until he was all that took up the space of the video screen, "I miss you and wish you were here." 

"I... miss you too, Hot Rod," Magnus admitted quietly. "I'll be back as soon as things here are wrapped up; I sincerely hope it won't take too long. The mechs here are...an interesting bunch." 

Hot Rod smirked, laughing a little. "Could you bring back some stories about the planet they're on?" he requested. "I've always wanted to hear about the other worlds out there." 

"You'd better ask Jazz about that." Magnus shrugged lightly. "I don't really have the time to look around. The alt-mode Sentinel picked for me is...convenient, similar to my original one. Optimus Prime told us about the customs here; some seem rather strange...and the organics... They're small, and there are many of them. At times, they're annoying, too. The only thing that really grabbed my attention was this encounter with some things Optimus Prime called 'Dinobots'. They looked like a peculiar cross between something organic and mechanic." 

"Dinobots, huh...?" Hot Rod's smile widened. "They sound pretty cool!"

The ensign dropped down to rest his chin on his arms, crossing them on the table with a tired sigh. "Anyway, I need to take a quick recharge before my next session. Today they're saying they're going to train us through a simulated mission taking place at night." Hot Rod reached forward, brushing a thumb briefly over the video panel. "Come back soon." 

"I'll try," Magnus promised. "Recharge well then, my youngling. May the stars watch over your rest..." 

Hot Rod nodded, smiled wide and returned the wishes—and the line closed after that, with the ensign's ever-present optimism still managing to seep through the channel. 

The Commander didn't waste much time lingering near the communications. He needed his recharge, too. He walked back to his own cabin and, finally, silence descended on the huge vessel.


	31. Since Forever Ago 01

At first, Jazz had a lot of doubts about this planet and its inhabitants, but over the course of his short stay here, he'd begun to find that maybe it wasn't so bad. These 'humans' weren't quite as harmful as Sentinel had warned him, and in fact, the saboteur wondered where Sentinel had ever gotten the idea. Each of the humans Jazz came across was fascinating in his or her own right; all of them were distinct from each other, had their own tastes and styles, just like Cybertronians. It was interesting, watching these humans and exploring their city.

At present, Jazz was cruising around Detroit's main shopping sites where all the stores seemed to be gathered, driving carefully and going around in circles just to watch all of the humans and admire their city. To be sure, it was nothing like Iacon and the tall, lit-up spires of home, but that didn't mean it was something to be ignored. 

He had been cruising for about an Earth hour by now, getting more and more lost in sightseeing, when suddenly, something wailed up behind him. It was a loud, grating, mechanical noise—a siren. As the Elite Guard peeked behind, he spotted the stern-looking organic on top of a slender vehicle: a member of Earth security forces, a 'policeman'. 

Jazz, after the first day, had taken some time to catch up on local regulations, so he knew the traffic rules, and took care with obeying them, but obviously, he got a little lost in marveling at the organics around and crossed one or two... Why else would a police officer signaling him to stop? 

Not wanting to cause a fuss, Jazz simply pulled over when the officer hailed him, and waited patiently for the officer to pull up. He didn't even think twice or consider projecting a holo-form, since he had seen several of the human's assisting machineries moving around on their own. He assumed they would be used to self-driving, talking cars, as well. 

The mustached man rolled up next to him and looked through his window; then raised a brow. "What do we have here...? Do you happen to be one of those 'Autobots'?" 

There was a nervous chuckle. "Yessir, I am...th' name's Jazz. Is there a problem here...?" His tone was light and courteous; Jazz was a guest to this planet, and wanted to avoid any local scuffles if he could. 

"Apparently;" The officer placed a hand on his hip, "you're not too well-versed on our customs. I'd like to have a word with you, pal. Now, follow me; I don't want you to cause trouble in the inner city...we’ve had enough of that because your kind."

He beckoned and the engine of the bike purred up. Suddenly, something washed over Jazz, like a splash of fresh energon; a unique energy signal, definitely Cybertronian and very strong...almost overwhelming. Jazz froze a bit where he was, reeling slightly from it. The fact that a human policeman was giving off a Cybertronian signal was confusing in and of itself...or, at least, his bike seemed to be. Jazz followed the cop as he drove off, but was careful and suspected quietly—he was no longer so certain that his visitor was organic in origin, but he didn't want to bring it up...best to wait and see. 

The ride was smooth and not too long—it took them to the harbor, where the sea lapped at the docks. Jazz, as a Cybertronian, had never before seen so much water at once; there were no oceans on his home planet. The officer slowed down as he drove past the big warehouses, checking them thoroughly. He finally spotted one standing a little further away. It was sort of run-down, obviously out of use, and as such, surely empty. He headed that way, glancing back to make sure Jazz followed. 

Naturally, the Elite Officer was close behind. He was still quite suspicious, and those suspicions grew as they came closer to the abandoned and particularly downtrodden warehouse, but Jazz still mentioned nothing aloud, merely tailed after the bike cop patiently. When they rolled into the warehouse, Jazz sat silently on his wheels for a moment before deciding it was an opportune moment to question.

"If you'll forgive me for askin', sir...I may not live on this planet, but I'm pretty sure this is a very un-police-like thing t' do." 

In the next second, the man disappeared; vanished into thin air, as if he had never been there. 

"I've never been a member of the security; you have to remember that." The slender bike stirred, then unfolded itself, standing up tall and elegant, blue visor flickering in the warehouse's darkness. The mech didn't move, save a flick of his wrist, which sent a shuriken soaring through the air, right into a panel on the wall next to the entrance. It sorted the controls out, and the huge, heavy doors began to slide together. 

For a moment, Jazz was too stunned by the reveal to do anything— _Prowl?!_ —but upon realizing the doors were sliding shut, Jazz transformed as well, and bolted for them to try and hold them apart. Still, he was too late.

The saboteur turned with a befuddled mixture of shock, confusion and anger. "Prowl! What's with you? What's with all this?!" 

"I could be asking the same thing of you, Jazz..." The darker ninja strolled closer, casually resting a hand on his waist. His movements were even more fluid and graceful than ever before. His hips swayed deliciously, and the raw spark energy his frame omitted was nearly suffocating. His vents were working overtime, too; if one looked close enough, the air trembled slightly around him. 

"I want answers. You're on this planet, right here, and you don't even want to say hello to your good old friend?" Prowl stopped and tilted his head to the side with a pout. "That is very rude." 

The saboteur drew in a sharp gasp, again rendered nearly motionless, both by the sudden overt friendliness and the overwhelming tidal wave of spark energy pulsing against his frame. His visor flashed and for a moment his processors spun, making him feel dizzy and heated.

"Y—Ya seemed a little—busy," he forced out, pushing hesitantly on Prowl's chassis. Old friends or not, the proximity was uncomfortable because it confused him. "Wh-What's with you all of a sudden? All those stellar cycles ago ya cut contact without even a goodbye, an' now this...?" 

Prowl took a small step back; barely an inch; and frowned. Why was Jazz so stubbornly resisting? And why was it so slagging hard to think...? 

"I had my reasons," he replied slowly. "And you should know them. I think you've forgotten about me...forgotten that I was your partner. Is that so, Jazz? Have you betrayed my trust?" 

Jazz's visor narrowed a bit. "Prowl, I _never_ forgot you...I thought you forgot about me! Ya never even bothered t’ let me know how you were in that new position; then I come here, an'..." he hesitated, his systems skipping a few cycles. He was still _drowning_ under these energy signals, and it was difficult to think straight. The saboteur lowered his gaze, looking hurt. "Besides, you...looked happy, with Optimus an' your new friends." _Especially Optimus_... 

Prowl gave a short pause. "So, you... You thought that him and me...?" Dear Primus, that agonizing, longing look on the saboteur's faceplates...it was Prowl's undoing. 

The Elite glanced curiously at the smaller, darker mech. "Aren't you?" 

In the next moment, he was promptly tackled to the ground, pinned down by surprisingly strong hands, and a pair of smooth lips had crashed against his. 

Jazz supposed he should take that as an obvious 'no'.

There was a groan of protest against the rough kiss, but under the wake of those vigorous pulses of energy, and the simple fact that Prowl was not as enthralled with Optimus as he'd thought, made it all hard to resist. For a few moments, Jazz was unresponsive; but he quickly relaxed, hummed and shifted his wrists in Prowl's grip, returning the kiss with a wash of eager relief—like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. 

The ninja left practically no place for doubt or too much thinking; his hands were roaming all over the black and white frame. His glossa mapped out every single inch in Jazz's mouth and their front plates rubbed together. Prowl jerked his hips, and his panel ground right against the red arrow-marks. It made him groan with pure lust; his spark gave a violent twist in its casing and his energy fields flared up like a beacon.

"Jazz..." he panted heavily, "I love you, only you. I want you; right here and now." Before the other could have answered though, another kiss sealed his lips. 

Jazz couldn't resist the kick-up of his venting systems to battle the flare of heat when Prowl ground directly against the markings on his front. The red strips and arrow were loaded with sensors and it caused his entire frame to shudder. Still, the saboteur couldn't help being stunned, and even though he moaned pleasantly into the kiss, he pried the darker mech away long enough to murmur against his lips, "N— _Now?_ That's quite the jump...! Sure ya don't wanna slow down...?!" 

"Perfectly," One hand traced the headlight, the other an audio module. "I've waited for so long, dreamt with you, _yearned_ for you...I can't wait any longer!" Another scorching kiss, "Whenever I've offlined my optics, you appeared in front of me..." a shift of the hips, "I kept calling your name, but nobody answered; I kept confessing and there was no reply. You can't deny this from me...!" 

The saboteur slicked his lips with his glossa, hissing with every kiss and motion of Prowl's body that caused friction between them. For a while he was quiet, staring Prowl directly in the optics while his chassis heaved a few times with the revs of his engine and the humming of his vents.

And then he pulled Prowl down, and it was he who was kissing, hard and sure, reaching back to run his fingers over a shoulder piece in encouraging strokes.

"Then, I can't wait either, Prowl."

A shuddering, loud gasp answered and the kissing and caressing continued with a frantic pace. The golden fingers took bold guesses at the saboteur's body, fumbling for hot spots, ducking into joints and crevices desperately. 

"I love you, Jazz," Prowl whispered. "You've driven me mad; I've loved you even back then and it just grew stronger through the years." He dragged his hand down on the other's front, down to the red marks. "I kept chasing myself into overload imagining your hands on my chassis. I need you now, all of you...!"

It was hard to stay still when those hands were roaming all over him like they were. Jazz shuddered and moaned without restraint as Prowl's fingers streaked down over the red markings, and found some hot spots on the silver decor above his headlights. "I—I always loved ya too, Prowl..." Jazz ran his hands over the shoulder pieces of Prowl's sleek design, playing with the chevron above his optics and pulling him down to grind against his frontplate. The energy feeding between them was intoxicating, and it was hard for Jazz to slow down. He quickly shared Prowl's eagerness, although a part of him was still smart enough to speak up and remind him that this was highly unlike the cyberninja. 

Prowl shuddered under the touches, his whole frame becoming a single, highly sensitive unit. Every caress was wonderful, every kiss and nip and playful bite sent lightning through his neuro-grid. He responded to Jazz's movements immediately, not forgetting to stimulate the black and white mech; no power of the universe was able to make him forget about intimacy's equality.

He chuckled between his gasps as their front panels touched and grinned at his partner. "You know...organics mate like this, too." To properly get his point across, he pressed himself tightly against Jazz's lower body. "You like this, don't you...?" There was no mockery or challenge in his voice, merely hopeful curiosity. 

Jazz shuddered and his mouth dropped open in another moan. "R—Really? Interestin'," he huffed, his vents cycling a mile an astro-second. He smiled lightly and caught Prowl in another kiss, pressing against him further. "Feels good t' get those markings...an' you're the one with me, so what's not to like?" 

Prowl flashed him a smile, and moved away—but just to press his lips against Jazz's lower chest, to shower the black part of his companion's body with kisses and licks, trailing downwards; slowly but persistently. 

The saboteur watched with a flashing visor, struggling to control himself and not let his systems heat too fast. "Prowl..." he moaned, the sound almost a whine as he arched up, pleading for more. 

The darker ninja moaned as well; Jazz's spark was pulsing and although its owner didn't regulate its impulses, nor let them freely pour forth, Prowl's hypersensitivity picked up the changes in the energy field, and those little shifts caused him pleasure as well. He continued his way down on the body, targeting the arrow; not knowing that he was making a dream come true. 

Jazz was biting down on his bottom lip and watching with bated cycles of air; the closer to those markings that Prowl drew, the more his spark hammered against its casing, crying for its mate-to-be. He pressed his leg against Prowl's frontplate, encouraging him onward, idle waiting noises escaping his vocals. 

And finally, that slick glossa flickered against the marks, teasing the sensors. Prowl, thorough mech as he was, didn't leave one millimeter of the red arrow untouched. He licked and kissed and even sucked lightly, delighting in his friend's melodious voice and heavy moans.

Jazz dropped against the ground and arched, crying out, his voice echoing off the empty warehouse walls. He stiffened all except for twitches in his servos on occasion while he reached down with one hand to grip a shoulder piece and rub it hard. " _Primus_ , Prowl...!" 

"Just...let it go." The reply was shaky and the gracefully arching armor piece pressed harder against the saboteur's palm. "I...want to see you overload." And those sinfully pleasurable kisses continued to rain on the sensitive markings. Prowl had made up his mind, and there was nothing what could have diverted him. 

There was another moan from the saboteur before he gave one last stroke to the shoulder piece, and then he flattened against the floor, hissing and offlining his optics, the glow of his visor dimming. His vents were roaring and his engine gave a few hard revs as Prowl continued to kiss, lick and nibble the bright red markings.

Eventually, the heat and stimulation built to a peak and Jazz broke through it, overloading with a snap of electricity and a static-ridden moan. His vents stopped trying to stave off the heat, and everything rushed through his systems in a spidery wave, frying everything until he was drifting in abstract bliss, nothing but the thought of Prowl keeping him from dropping offline. The dark ninja soaked up the wild waves of energy; his spark arched up as if wanting to caress the markings itself.

Prowl remained silent as he watched his friend writhe from the wonderful agony of a very first sexual experience; Jazz was beautiful like that and Prowl's optics glowed in the semi-darkness so intensely from his arousal and emotions, his visor appeared to be almost white. Slowly, brushing his own frame against the black and white one, he crawled up, to look Jazz in the face, marveling at the perfectly angled silver plates.

"You're the functional definition of beauty," Prowl whispered and dropped a gentle kiss on the slightly parted lips.

Still reeling from the overload, Jazz only groaned softly and returned the kiss, heaving air into his systems in an attempt to cool them. He wound his arms around Prowl's and stroked the shoulder pieces slowly and affectionately, nuzzling against the side of his face when the kiss broke. "M'thinkin' you're th' same thing," he purred, right in Prowl's audio, with a smile. "Nice an' sleek, small; perfect..." 

Jazz kissed near Prowl's audio, still recovering a bit. "I had _dreams_ about this, Prowl," he confessed quietly. "M'sorry I read ya so wrong...all this time, we could've avoided that whole mess..." 

"Same here..." Prowl nodded. "I was afraid I'd lost your friendship, your trust...that I'd never be able to properly kiss you, touch you, overload with you. And my dreams were torturing me, allowing me to do all that and even more; but when I reached out, baring myself to you, everything disappeared." He ran a hand over Jazz's front bumper. "I'm so happy that you're finally here." 

Jazz smiled wider. "I'm glad too, Prowl," he hummed. He arched a bit as Prowl caressed his front, sighing in content. "An' I promise I won't disappear." 

"I won't let you disappear," the darker ninja murmured, his caress getting charged with energy. "I'll bind you to me, forever. Even if we'll have to part, we'll be together." 

Something clicked and the saboteur's visor flickered for a moment; he shuddered at the energy that brushed over his chassis, heat building up again for a moment. "Nnn—wait—" he blinked beneath his visor, pausing, giving Prowl a glance. "You're...you're serious...?" Jazz knew what Prowl was saying, he just wasn't sure if he wanted to believe it; he'd known now that the cyberninja was acting strangely, but he hadn't minded it all that much until now. It was nice that Prowl was finally approaching him, even if it was uncharacteristically abrupt. But this...this just seemed almost thoughtless. 

"I seldom joke," Prowl confirmed and dropped a kiss on the white chest. "I want to be yours and have you in return. I've waited long enough. Nobody's more worthy of this offer than you, Jazz. Show me...give it to me." A charged hand brushed against the saboteur's sensitive audios. 

Jazz shivered and drew in a sharp breath. "W-Wait a minute, Prowl...I-I know we've both been wantin' t' be together, but...this ain't like you...you're not thinking this through." 

"Oh, I did." The burning optics behind the visor locked with Jazz's. "It’s all I've thought about lately. If you really love me, you won't decline. Look at me, Jazz. Can't you see how I ache for you? Can't you feel my spark calling out for yours?" The plates on the black chest shifted, slipping to the side, and the warehouse was lit by a bluish light; a spark's radiance. "See?" Prowl asked, hovering inches away from his friend's frame. "It wants to meet yours...Jazz, please...!" The energy lashing out from the open chamber was like a tidal wave: merciless and overwhelming. The ninjabot's spark reached out, thin tendrils of light clawing toward the plates hiding its counterpart. 

Jazz reeled and couldn't help the low cry that escaped as Prowl's spark stretched to try and bind with his own. The energy was incredible, and that on top of the truth of the matter meant Jazz had to exercise every _drop_ of willpower he had to push Prowl back and try to speak sense into the other.

"Prowl, _wait_ ," he said sternly. "I ain't denyin' ya anything, I'm just trying to getcha t' _think_ about this first. You of all mechs should be able to tell this is too sudden! You know I'm all for this, Prowl...I always was...but ya don't think maybe we should slow down?" Jazz seemed nothing but cool and still, but in reality, it was a rough struggle to keep from answering Prowl's call. "On top of that, if somethin' happened to either of us—" 

"I don't _care_!" The dark ninja snarled. Suddenly, all the softness was gone from him; he was sharp and demanding. "Open your chest now and bond with me! Can't you understand? I _need_ it!" His fields' intensity was off the scale, pounding wildly, uncontrollably. 

The saboteur flinched backwards, if only because the energy rolling off of Prowl's frame was _pounding_ into his systems. Prowl didn't even have to physically bind him to the floor; the energy told him better than to move.

But after a moment, a white hand reached up and touched Prowl's shoulder. "Alright, now, that's enough...I understand ya." Jazz sat up a bit, shifting forward—allowing the energy to spike against his field and make him shudder. Carefully, he unlocked his armor, allowed his chassis to open and every layer of armor to slide back, baring his spark chamber, and finally, the spark itself. The space between them grew bright with blue-white energy; Jazz's spark quivered with need but pulsed slow, a smooth and steady rhythm against Prowl's desperate flaring.

"If this is really what you want..." 

Instead of a reply, Prowl pulled his friend flush against him, straddling the black and white thighs, so their frontplates would touch as well. With a broken moan, he threw his head back, shivering from the contact. "Oh, Primus...Jazz...!" 

Almost immediately, Jazz shuddered and bit down on his lip as another melodic sound escaped his vocals. His visor flashed bright and then flickered offline as he succumbed to the wash of energy from the contact. His spark stretched out now, trying to reach Prowl's in order to go through with the bond; tendrils of light tangled with the other's and the spiking waves spiraling off their fields crackled at the point of contact between their sparks. Jazz became wrecked with shudders as his spark pulled closer and closer to the other's and his engine roared at the electrical surge; he rocked his hips against Prowl's and his moans fell in song.

Suddenly, Jazz couldn't help but wonder why in the name of the Allspark the old 'bots decided to throw this away.

Nothing... _Nothing_ could be better than this. This was _everything_. It was everything Jazz ever wanted, happening even as the world kept turning around them, and he was suddenly so happy he could weep like a sparkling and not even care. 

A feeling of completeness: that was what spark-bonding meant; the union of two souls; two beings becoming one for a while, never to be fully separated again. Everything that was Jazz—the music, the energy, the jokes and the power, the professional calmness—it all poured into him, surrounded Prowl and filled him. Suddenly, he knew about all the dreams, the lonely nights, the cycles spent with hiding, watching the other recharge. The past all gathered up in a rush and played before Prowl; the feelings of his mate wrapped around him, confirming the love and admiration he himself felt for the saboteur as well. It was overwhelming, spark-breaking...perfect.

Everything that either or both of them had known mingled and mixed. Their emotions and memories became those of a single bond and not of two separate mechs. Jazz could sense everything about Prowl, both from the past and of the present, all at once; it spilled over and into him and he quivered and held the sleek dark mech close to him. Prowl's calm and stoic silence was just a shield, a protective guard against the world. It made his missions easier, made his mind clear of worry in the heat of battle; but it also allowed him to bottle everything up inside, and keep all of his emotions to himself; and although Jazz had somewhat known this before, it was only now that he truly understood the depth of the torrential wave of emotional activity that lay dormant beneath Prowl's cool exterior.

His spark sang as the heat flared in his systems and the powerful strength of the bond allowed him to reach out, take the essence of Prowl's self and wrap it in and around his own; embracing and being embraced; telling him that it was okay. That he was loved and wanted and the greatest mech he'd ever met.

The heat, the pulsing energy escalated to such a peak which was nearly impossible to comprehend; the two cores vibrated to the same rhythm, perfectly in synch. They snuggled up, holding each other tight with their tendrils and finally merged, like two pairs of lips in a heated kiss, forming a bond between them which would keep them connected until the moment one of them extinguished.

The spark-bond generated an overwhelming wave of charge which swept over the two frames, overloading them immediately. Everything aside the other's shivering body ceased to exist; only the heavenly feeling of unity remained, that of being whole. Still, they were both aware of each other, and that was how the experience exceeded anything else.

It was such a wonderful, exquisite feeling, and it was enough that Jazz kept pressed against Prowl as the surge subsided; the sensation lingered even after the peak of it had passed, and even as their spark chambers and armor closed once again, Jazz couldn't think of anything better than to hold Prowl's warm frame close to his and lie on the ground of the warehouse, nuzzling against the other's neck and humming a few low notes in his audios. His arms wound around the cyberninja's waist and he had them lie side by side, together, the way it really should have been many stellar cycles ago.


	32. Since Forever Ago 02

Prowl almost seemed to be offline. His optics were dark; he lay motionlessly in the saboteur's arms, and a smile lingered on his lips. Inside, he was buzzing with the ebbing energy, so warm and perfectly sated like never before. Jazz was with him, outside and inside; in his spark, he could feel the other's reassuring presence, something which will remain with him; hopefully until the day an enemy shot or expiration terminates him. Such a glorious feeling, never to be alone...

Remain there the two of them did, Jazz stroking Prowl's chevron and keeping him close until he began to drift lightly offline. There was a warm and satisfying pulse in his spark that still allowed the freshly-forged bond to flow through, something that Jazz hoped would carry on until they were otherwise taken offline.

 

It must have been an Earth hour, maybe more, before Jazz stirred again and nuzzled Prowl's neck. He was smiling and a sense of satisfaction and happiness emanated from him as he lovingly held Prowl at the waist. "Mmm... You’re makin' it hard for me to go back t' Cybertron, Prowl..." 

"At least, you'll have wonderful memories to take with you." The darker ninja murmured, running a hand along his bondmate's body. "It won't be easy for me, either; still, it'll be easier now to be apart due to the—" There was a startled click and the blue visor flashed up. The frame beneath Jazz's hand tensed up. "—bond..." 

Jazz frowned, and concern took over him; not just because of Prowl's sudden freeze, but because he felt an odd sense of dread from the other, and it made him sit up and look down at his mate, an arm still around his waist loosely. "What's wrong?" 

The other's visor practically blazed; Prowl's vents picked up, expelling heated air, a sign of extreme distress. He sat up as well, staring at Jazz, mouth slightly open, though no words came. He crawled backwards, away from the saboteur and slowly placed a hand on his chest. "What...have I done...?" he whispered barely audibly.

Now, as his processors were free of that strange, heated haze, he could think back what happened: he forced his best friend to bind his spark with Prowl's. He was not thinking, he just demanded, never stopping to think about Jazz's feelings, what _he_ wanted...he just did it. 

To borrow the dark, heavy Earth term...he raped Jazz. 

Prowl's spark shrank under the realization. How could he so cruelly, thoughtlessly betray the one he loved most? How could Jazz still touch him, after such violation? Prowl wished the ground would split beneath him and swallow him up in whole. He didn't dare to look at the other; he kept his optics on the floor, vents heaving. 

Jazz wasn't sure what to do. He didn't understand the reason behind Prowl's feelings, and as he stood to try and approach the other, his only goal was to try and discover what it might be. "Prowl? Calm down, you're workin' yourself to a panic...what's the matter?" 

It made no sense. Why was Jazz trying to be nice to him?!

"I'm sorry..." Prowl quickly rose, stepping back, away from his friend. "I'm so sorry...!" He turned and leapt, the jetpack boosting his jump, right through one of the already broken windows. He transformed in mid-air and bolted; he didn't know where, but he wanted away, to be alone with his devastating shame...before going to Ultra Magnus for a proper punishment.

"Prowl?! Prowl, wait!" Jazz reached out to stop the slightly smaller mech, but it was no use—the ninjabot burst off, and Jazz watched him go, confusion written all over his face. Something was wrong...was it something he'd done...? It bothered him more than anything that Prowl wished to avoid it...

Sighing, Jazz climbed his way out through one of the windows, as well, and transformed to take chase. He could easily track Prowl's signal now—not including the fact that the sense of their bond may get stronger as he got closer. With any luck, Prowl wouldn't notice it too much and he would catch up to him. 

It wasn't that much of a chase, merely a tracking mission. Prowl, quick as he was, didn't actually try to lose his friend—not that he could do that now—he just drove straight out of the city, into a small area where tall trees grew and disappeared behind the leaves. He pressed his forehead against the bark and wished if only his kind could cry as well; let the clean fluid wash away the burning guilt. 

Not too long after Prowl reached his destination and leaned against the nearest tree to lament, a sleek black-and-white figure came up behind him, keeping his steps careful and light.

"Prowl..." Jazz spoke softly, "I know something's up. C'mon...don't do this. You know keepin' quiet won't make it better." He smiled a bit. "Won't make it easier for me t' help ya, either." 

"Why would you want to help?" the darker ninja snapped, his voice dripping with despair. "I betrayed you in the worst way possible!" His vocalizer glitched, lacing the rest of his words with static. "Leave me...I don't deserve you or your kindness. I...didn't mean to do this..." He lowered his head, his hands on the bark; a welcome, steady support amidst his anguish. 

"Betrayed me?" Jazz frowned. "I don't _feel_ very betrayed." He stepped a little closer to the darker mech. When he was near enough, he tried to reach and touch his arm soothingly. "You didn't do anythin' wrong, Prowl..." 

"...Except for selfishly taking your spark!" His own gave a painful twist at the admission.

And then it all made sense.

But all Jazz could do is smile, and chuckle, and pull Prowl back against his chest. "Prowl, if you'd forced me into that, you'd be lyin' face-down in the warehouse right now, waking up in the dark. Do you really think I'd letcha hurt me like that?" Jazz held the ninja firm against him, in case he might try to get away. "I ain't sayin' your behavior wasn't a bit... _strange_ for ya, but...doesn't change the fact that we've both wanted this for some time now. Am I right?" 

There was a pause. For a few seconds, Prowl's each and every processor stopped and he was just staring forward, while his spark was fluttering from relief. Then, the systems rebooted, and he relaxed in the strong arms. "You're...not angry with me?" 

Jazz laughed. "Nahh! S' there a reason t' be angry?" He nuzzled against Prowl's helm. "Believe me, Prowl. What we've got now...we've got it because both of us were willing to have it. And frankly, I like it. S' about time we admitted this to ourselves, don'tcha think?" 

The darker mech turned in his bondmate's arms and embraced him tight. "Thank you Jazz, thank you so much..." he whispered, "You made me the happiest mech in the whole universe. Primus is smiling on me." 

There was a tight but gentle squeeze around Prowl's frame, and the saboteur gave a smile, rubbing the mech's back and resting his head atop Prowl’s. "And it’s a good thing, too, ‘cause I feel much the same."

A twinge of warning passed through Prowl. "But that means I expect ya t' be especially careful from now on, got me? Don't do anything stupid. Next time I see ya, s' gotta be in one piece, understand?" 

Prowl nodded, like a sparkling to his tutor. "Yes. I don't want to cause you pain." He rubbed the white chest a bit. "I'm...sorry for all of this, though; I mean, the way I behaved. For some time, I was very restless. All the dreams, the yearning for you...they kept me from proper recharges, and I suppose that's why I snapped." He looked up, with a fond smile. "I feel a lot better now. You healed me, dear friend." 

Jazz chuckled. "Heyyy, if it drove ya t' finally get me to this point after so long, it can't be all bad, right?" He put a hand overtop Prowl's, holding it close. "You _were_ acting a bit funny, though, like I said. An' your energy signal was...different. It was flarin' up all funky." He paused. "It’s gone now, though;" smirking, Jazz added, "guess you were missin' me pretty bad, huh?" 

"I guess," Prowl smirked smugly. Everything was alright in the world now. He had the most important thing: Jazz's love. 

"Fancy a walk with me? Perhaps I could show you a few things out here in Nature." 

"Aw, Prowl, you know that stillness bit was never my best mark in training," he laughed. And it was true; as opposed to Prowl's preference with the still and quiet, Jazz could never shake the need for public attention. He loved crowds and lively places. "But I'll walk anyway. It'll be good to talk." 

"Point; I know nothing of what happened to you since I left." The ninjabot slipped his hand into his bondmate's and smiled. "Tell me everything."


	33. To Defeat an Elite 01

Quick, irritable footsteps paced up and down one empty hall of the Autobot base. The yellow 'bot that orchestrated them crossed his arms over his chassis with a pensive and fretful expression; he drummed his fingers against his arms and made an upset revving of his engine between the soft hissing sounds of his vents as they fought against the building heat in his systems. Coolant had begun to bead at the joints and inner creases of his armor, where it was closest to the inner wiring. He continued pacing with that aggravated look on his face, up the hall and down again, and the more he paced the more restless he grew.

Bumblebee kept on with this fidgeting for hours; in a literal fit over his own state of mind, he would sometimes force himself to stand still against the wall, but that brought about lewd and illicit thoughts as he plotted that only made the symptoms worse, that caused him to mewl wantonly, get back up and begin pacing again. He played idly with one horn, hissing and growling as his fingers pressed against it, trying to relieve some of the tension.

What could he do? What could he do?

_Slaggit, I'm out of options!_ He cried in despair. He couldn't keep subjecting his friends to this—of course, it worked best, but afterwards some part of Bee always felt distinctly awful for taking advantage like that. Even with Optimus, it didn't feel right—not because he'd done anything _wrong_ , but, as he was now—Bee felt like he didn't even want Optimus anymore. No, he didn't want Optimus, he wanted Optimus' _energy_. He was tired, desperate and turning into a twisted kind of leech; what's worse, he was fully aware of it.

As Bumblebee quietly bemoaned his distress, he chewed on one finger's end. Previously, when these crashes occurred, he had tried as many times as possible (when Optimus wasn't available) to 'self-medicate' the problem, but that would not be applicable here. He had tried already--quite recently in fact--and he wasn't feeling at all better.

So now what was he supposed to do?

Bumblebee groaned stressfully and clanged his head against the wall as he stopped his pacing, revving his engine angrily. He tried already once with Ratchet. This wasn't something the medic could fix; but he was running out of time! Maybe, just this once—maybe, if he was lucky—maybe Ratchet could find out. _No, no, that means a check-up_ , Bee growled. _I can't sit still that long...!_

He perked up as his audios suddenly caught footsteps: a stranger's footsteps. One could easily identify any bot by how he walked. Bee himself barely touched the ground, Bulkhead was heavy and lazy, Ratchet creaked, Prowl was almost completely silent, and Optimus walked with sure, light steps. But this one, although it sounded similar to Prime’s, was still different. It was heavy, demanding...self-important. 

Sentinel Prime looked around with the expression of sheer disgust all over his faceplates. _This_ was supposed to be a base of operations? It was a miracle it didn't collapse solar cycles ago! Everything was so run-down, and he spotted some organic... _thing_ poking out of the building, for crying out loud! And everything was probably infested with human germs. Sentinel shuddered. Had Ultra Magnus not asked him specifically to track down that rust-bucket of a medic and bring him over to their ship, he never would have here! 

Now, where was that glitching old junkyard escapee...? Sentinel measured the doors and headed for one of them. He hoped he could wrap this up as quickly as possible. This place gave him the creeps. 

Bumblebee peered briefly around the corner to see the owner of those footsteps approaching him, and his optics widened and he jerked out of sight, began pacing again. He stopped when he suddenly had to press his arms against his chest, because his spark _pushed_ against its casing, _wailing_ for attention as Sentinel drew close. Bee made a distraught sound and his nervous twitches doubled. No, no, no, no, _no_! Why did it have to be him? Why _Sentinel?!_ Had he a choice in any of the Elite Guards making a perfect appearance like right now, at least with Jazz or Ultra Magnus, Bumblebee could feel ashamed and still keep some well-tucked shred of his dignity. Sentinel—he _hated_ Sentinel! That slagging loudmouth had insulted his mate and bullied his friends, called them all liars and thrown him under a disinfectant shower! The very conjured thought of Sentinel disgusted him!

Or it _used_ to, anyway. Last acts of desperation were powerful motivators.

The Elite's pace slowed a bit as he suddenly picked up something...a weird energy signature. Something was drifting in the air, and it was...oddly inviting, alluring; pulling at his insides, trying to drag him into a certain direction. It made his spark act funny. Sentinel blinked and took a step backwards, his slight paranoia kicking in. 

"Is anybody there?" he asked, loud and demanding, shield ready in his arm to be activated if there was something harmful. Really, what was he expecting at such a slagged place? 

Bee squinted his optics and dimmed them, shuddering in his own thoughts. Alright—now or never— _should I go there or go elsewhere?_

He weighed his options. He tried to do so with care.

But his spark screamed at him, and it won the argument.

Still jerking his fingers and looking generally ill, Bumblebee slowly slunk into view, glancing up at Sentinel from where he stood. Being close to the other was an agonizing paradox for him in more ways than one; it both relieved and worsened his state. His spark fluttered in exasperation, calming somewhat, but still pushing, pushing for attention, demanding that Bumblebee feed it and feed it _now_.

Oh...it was the yellow twerp. Sentinel relaxed upon realizing it; after all, what could that sparkling do to him? 

"You there!" he barked at the scout, "I'm looking for that sad excuse of a medic. The Commander wants to see him and now. Take me to him." He couldn't resist the jab, "And stand straight when an officer is talking to you! I'm not that walking failure, Optimus."

Still, those weird energy waves were still coming at him, and right from the direction of the small Bot. What the heck? He looked a bit out of it; could it be something related to the Allspark...? Perhaps the little glitch was hiding a shard in his chassis? Sentinel thought it was possible. He believed that the ragtag crew would do anything just to cause trouble to the Elite Guards. He eyed Bee, waiting for a response.

Bee glared outright at Sentinel, but didn't say anything nasty. Still, his pride was going to ache after this. Sentinel just _had_ to remind him why this was such a bad idea.

At the very least, he was a bit more relaxed when close to the fellow energy source, so Bumblebee tried to stand straight and turned, vents cycling still. He tried to quiet them at the expense of building more heat. "Cool your heels, _sir—_ " he'd meant to growl it, really, but instead it came out as an alluring purr, "—med bay's just a few halls down."

Mmm; nothing stroked Sentinel's ego more than proper respect. And the way that sparkling said the respective term...he couldn't quite understand why, but he liked it. 

"Take me there." he said, a little less arrogant that previously. He stepped closer. Whoa, that tiny yellow frame was _blazing_. The Elite Guard blinked. "What’s up with you, shorty? Ran a few miles too much? You're just about melting here." He noticed the clean drops of coolant shimmering on the polished surfaces, and for a moment, he felt an odd urge to reach out and brush them off. 

"Maybe you're hiding something in that chassis of yours...?"

Bee couldn't help but to smile at the irony. Sentinel probably thought that he possessed something valuable to the Elite Guard. He flashed the smile at Sentinel over his shoulder, the words rolling off his glossa in an affectionate tone that he couldn't stop himself from using. "Sooort of," he crooned. "But I'm saving it for someone."

The Prime's optics widened then narrowed. He moved even closer and placed a firm hand on the small mech's shoulder. He nearly wrenched his hand back; the metal was hot under the touch; and a wave of energy ran along his arm like lightning. This fueled Sentinel's suspicions further—the little glitch surely found another shard, and now he wanted to keep it! 

"As your superior, I order you to hand it over!" He commanded firmly, looming above Bee like a menacing shadow. "It'll be at a better place in my keeping." Inwardly, he was already cheering, thinking of the praise he'd get from Ultra Magnus. 

Bee craned his head up, appearing as innocent as he could manage, biting his lip playfully and flicking his optics down the direction of another hallway. Well, he had Sentinel's attention; but now would be a bad place to come forward. In this section of the base, anyone would be likely to discover them...so the little yellow 'bot played the situation to his advantage, and bolted for a lesser-used section of the complex, knowing full well that Sentinel would take chase.

He was not disappointed as a shout of, "Come back!" sounded behind him, along with the heavy thud of running footsteps. "You little glitch...! Trying to escape, opposing a direct order? I'll get you and I'll shake that thing out of you if I must!" Sentinel was _furious_ and he even considered switching to vehicle mode, but eventually opted against it. 

Bee would have surely lost the chase by now to those large, crushing arms, except for one important factor—he utilized speed over Sentinel's strength. One darting corner after another, the yellow 'bot led his Elite pursuer into the abandoned back section of the base, an area that was either still under renovations, half-restored or just forgotten altogether. He purposefully slowed his steps a few times the closer he got to a desired space, allowing Sentinel the illusory conclusion that he was catching up to Bumblebee on his own.

Eventually, Bumblebee located a lonesome, empty room with a few mish-mashed stacks of steel, supplies and boxes, big enough that it could be turned into an extra room if given the time. He came to a screeching halt inside, and waited for Sentinel to take the bait.

The Guard didn't suspect a thing; he was convinced that the scout was tiring and triumph already washed over him. He burst into the spare room and nearly crashed into the standing Bumblebee. Flailing just a little to regain his balance, Sentinel glared. "This will cost you dearly, you little glitch! Ultra Magnus will hear about it. It shows that you have no proper leader; he couldn't drill you at all! Miserable little wrecker! Whatever you’ve got, hand it over, _now_!"

The little scout was perfectly calm in the face of Sentinel's anger. He paused to listen to the Elite soldier spout his steam. Then he turned, and, with a smile, struck a false pose of submission with his hands in the air. "Alright, alright, you caught me," he said lightly. The heat was rushing off of him in waves, along with his fluctuating spark energy, strongest now that he and Sentinel were alone. "But it's not something I can just _hand_ over, y'know. It's actually...stuck." Bee's smile widened into a grin, and he turned his head coyly. "So why don't you just come down here and get it, _Sentinel_...?"

Something deep inside, buried under pass and firewall stirred, but Sentinel wasn't old enough to know its importance. He noticed how his spark was getting a little restless, how his frame heated up and how nice it felt; but he easily dismissed it, assuming it's merely the sweet taste of victory. He kneeled down and placed a hand on Bumblebee's chest.

"Open," he commanded, but at the very moment, something happened. His spark shrieked, giving an almost painful twist and his core temperature jumped. Something was not right. He felt funny, dizzy, not bad but alarming; his circuits twisting with an exquisite ache. He snatched his hand away. "What the slag...?"

Bumblebee smiled lazily, grabbing Sentinel's hand and pulling it forward again. "What's the matter, Sentinel?" he hummed, pressing the Elite's hand on his chassis and leaning into it. He had some mild control over the spark energy that he possessed, but for the most part, he was too demanding at this point to exercise restraint—he just let the energy flow freely into the mech's systems, overwhelming but oh-so-tempting.

"I'm not hiding anything anymore," he added, vocals purring. "See?" He sent out a particularly large wave, squeezed Sentinel's wrist lightly and lifted his hand to brush his lips to the fingers as he spoke, locking eyes with the soldier. "I'm one-hundred percent honest now..." He was completely aware that Sentinel must not be 'in the know' as he and the others were, but, that was something Bumblebee was willing to work with. There was, at least, one benefit to the situation: seeing that delicious confusion wipe the smugness from Sentinel's faceplates.

The Guard's bright optics widened to the point where it seemed impossible to go any wider. His jaw fell and now he was gaping at Bee, his frame wrecked by slight tremors he couldn't understand. What was the little glitch _doing_? What was this overpowering sensation which made him want to move closer and purr like a cyber-cat?

Sentinel cleared his vocalizer and made a few half-hearted attempts to pull his hand away. "I have no idea what are you trying to initiate," he managed to moan out, "But desist immediately. I'm warning you, this is an assault on a superior officer...!" It didn't help much that his whole frame was quietly demanding more of that energy rolling off the scout. Sentinel's vents growled louder by the second.

"It's not assault!" Bumblebee tilted his head, wrapping his glossa around one finger to draw it in his mouth to suck. He drew back from it to speak and kiss the tip. "You approached me first, see? And I'm not hurting you at all." His voice was high and sweet. He slicked his glossa over Sentinel's fingers each in turn, humming softly as he did, looking truthfully up at the Elite Guard with a childish pout. "This doesn't hurt, right, _Sentinel_? Hmmm..." he placed a suckling kiss on the soldier's palm, sending out another wave of spark energy as he did, revving his engine on a low thrum.

The larger bot' vents were practically howling by now, and he was clicking like a sparkling; he couldn't control his vocalizer any longer. Something in screamed at him to reach out and touch that scorching hot frame, pull it closer, and he couldn't resist. 

Hands trembling, he pulled the scout against him and he gasped as the other's spark energy all but poured into him, making his own core claw at the protective plates, wanting to meet its counterpart. His fuel tank was churning, and it took him several reboots until he could whimper something coherent. 

"Okay...what are you doing to me?" Beneath the incredible want and need, he was panicking, fair and square.

Bee mewled wantonly and squirmed in Sentinel's grip, tilting his head up to kiss and nip at the soldier's neck with a smile. "Me...? Just reminding you of something we all forgot...your spark already knows..." he arched, steadying his hands against Sentinel's broad chest and rubbing the seams. "S' called an 'overload'; you build and build the energy in your systems, until it surges." Bee moaned again, his vents cycling rapidly in vain against his overheated frame. "I can feel you building up already. Doesn't it feel good...?"

Bee reached up to wind his arms around Sentinel's neck, and pulled him down so that he could stand high on his feet and whisper directly into the Guard's audio. "I can make it better, if you like..."

"O-o-o-o-overload...?" Sentinel was really panicking, especially as it took a serious effort to grab those slender shoulders and keep Bumblebee away. "Do you have a loose screw somewhere? That could offline me! I'm not falling for such a stupid trick! You want to disable me so Optimus can have his way and won't be punished for his insubordination! Overload, bah!"

He leaned closer to hiss into Bumblebee's face. "I don't know how you're doing this, and reluctantly, I have to admit that it's very convincing, but it takes a lot more than that to make me fall for such traps!"


	34. To Defeat an Elite 02

Here, Bumblebee halted his attentions to snarl and scrape his fingers against Sentinel's chest. "Would you just—!" he started to snap, but forced himself to stop; no matter how tempting he made his spark, if he lost Sentinel's favor, it would all be for nothing. So Bumblebee leered impatiently at the Guard, sneering, "I don't _have_ an ulterior motive. I just want an overload—and I wanna share the experience." The yellow 'bot nudged firmly at Sentinel's chest.

"Come on, Sentinel," he whined, tone turning from angry to needy, "I _promise_ it's harmless, an' I won't offline you! You'll love it, really...! I know; I've had several already!" He nuzzled Sentinel's faceplates. "Besides, you're so strong and such a commanding mech...I decided to show you this for a reason, Sentinel...!"

The hold on him loosened considerably, thanks to the blatant flattery. Plus, part of the still available processor capacity was occupied with digging through databases, to find evidence about this 'overload' thing. 

"Strong and commanding, huh...?" Sentinel murmured, measuring the other. He had to admit that the heated frame was not without any charms. "Tell me more." Hey, if he was really that charming...he might win this sparkling over and question him about Optimus! Now, a little thought, a bit of careful probing...Sentinel was proud of his brilliant idea. 

The bit about his aching pride kicked in for a moment. But Bumblebee revved his engine and swallowed his reluctance with a grain of rust. He kissed Sentinel just beside one audio, murmuring directly into it while his hips swayed slightly where he stood. "Well, like I said, you're very strong...and intelligent...and you have a nice chassis..." he squirmed some more, winding his hands around the soldier's neck and humming pleasantly, "Broad and warm, steady..."

The blue frame hummed up against him and Sentinel's hands began to lazily roam over the smaller yellow form. "You're...not too bad yourself..." he forced out with the same reluctance, "So...small...easy to, uh, please...?" Somehow, that didn't sound quite right, but it was all he could work with.

"What did you do to my audio sensors...Bumblebee?" It actually took a few seconds until he remembered the name. 

Now he was getting somewhere. Bee smiled, shuddering against Sentinel's frame. "Mmm...did you like it?" He ran his glossa over the base of the soldier's audio, lifting a hand to wrap his fingers around one of the dual antennae to stroke it slowly. "They must be one of your 'hot spots'..." _Just like Optimus_ , Bee mused. Then again, not much of a surprise—Sentinel and Optimus were probably built of similar components, so they must naturally have some similar hot spots as well.

The Elite Guard squirmed. Slaggit all to the Pit, this was... _nice_. He rubbed at Bumblebee's waist plating and tilted his head a bit for a better angle. "You're not doing this the first time, that's for sure... Where did you learn this?" 'Hot spots', that sounded a little familiar... Hadn’t he heard some old mechs talking about it long ago?

Bee snickered. Well, technically, it all started with thanks to the human Internet, but... "From Ratchet," he purred, kissing Sentinel's audio and licking the base a little more. He mirrored the stimulation on its twin with his fingers, rubbing the base screw and stroking the antennae. "He told me about it," Bumblebee sighed happily and arched his back a bit, his spark already beginning to relax, but still quite demanding. He shifted back against Sentinel's hands. "Hey, Sentinel...could you rub my horns a little...?"

"Your horns...?" The strong fingers slipped upwards to the yellow helm, brushing against the small nubs. Somewhere deep inside, the Guard was actually curious—how would the little glitch react to that? 

Needless to say, Sentinel was less than disappointed. Bumblebee's optics widened and then offlined—he'd been hypersensitive for weeks now, but the energy had been so deprived for the past few hours that he dared guess it was the strongest feedback he'd gotten since this began. Bee's mouth dropped open in a gape and his vents cycled faster while he whimpered feverishly and arched against Sentinel's frame, tilting his head into the touch.

"Aaaahh, _yes_! That feels _so_ good...!"

The Prime hummed appreciatively. He loved to be strong, and the knowledge that he was able to render somebody into a shivering wreck appealed to him greatly. Besides, the audio-visuals weren't too bad, either. 

"Does it now...?" He purred, while he continued rubbing the horns. His free hand flattened out on the scout's back, keeping him close as their sparks curled against their chambers' opening, pulsing in synch, humming to each other. 

" _Yes_!" Bee practically squealed, consciously nuzzling Sentinel's hand and shivering. His spark pulsed heavily and thrashed with desperate, siphoning waves of energy that rebound between his and Sentinel's chestplates, causing Bee to lean all of his weight on the other as he went weak at the knees. He clamped his lips down over an audio and sucked, pressed his glossa on and around the metal and moaned, moving down to nip eagerly at the Guard's neck.

"Watch the paintjob, kid," Sentinel grumbled but quite half-heartedly. Having another mech snuggling up to him, arching into his every touch was certainly flattering, and he was starting to get the hang of it. The little one mentioned hot spots, so there had to be more. As long as his systems were fine, he couldn't care less what happened to the other. 

The strong fingers began to quest, probing around the shoulders while he nuzzled around Bee's neck, curious about how these activities felt. The exposed wires on the slender throat spat sparks, and the charge there practically bit into his lips, but in a very nice way. He pressed them closer to the wires and shuddered, topping the reaction with a small moan. 

Bumblebee quivered from helm to feet as Sentinel grew bolder, mewling and leaning against Sentinel and tilting his head to expose his neck to the other. His shoulders jerked at the attentions given and he sank further against the other's larger frame. He couldn't stand anymore. He hung on Sentinel's neck, vents hissing and spitting heat while he degenerated into sparkling clicks and stuttering moans. "Ssss-Sentinel...! Aah...I...can't—mmm!—stand...please, let's lie down...!"

The Prime, as he was kneeling on the floor already, would have gladly obeyed that needy begging if not for the first warning sign flashing at the side of his vision. He double-checked his systems and the observation confirmed the warning: he was heating up, more than it was considered healthy. 

"It's not good," he murmured, though he pulled the scout downwards, into his hap. "I'm overheating, and you’ve probably already got a few scorched wires inside." Okay, checkups were nasty things, but still. It looked like a quite permanent condition, in the case of Bee. 

"That happens!" Bee moaned, trying to keep his tone from being snappy. He had less patience for the hesitation after knowing for so long, but allowing that to rule him might lose him this chance at energy. "It happens...means the energy's building up to be released...it's harmless."

Bumblebee pulled himself up a little in the soldier's lap, curling his fingers around an audio again and fingering the wide slats of the small grill positioned dead-center on Sentinel's chest. "Sentinel..." The little scout tugged the Elite down to meet him halfway, craned his neck so he could press his lips against the other's in a fervent kiss. His spark throbbed at the prospect of Sentinel's overload, energy rolling off of him in thick, swaying waves, dizzying in their enchantment as they encouraged Sentinel closer and closer to his peak.

The Prime's optics nearly fell out of their sockets. Suddenly, it clicked; he recalled a few details about interfacing, bonding, and _kissing_. That was what Bumblebee was doing to him, right? Primus, it...it felt so...incredibly awesome! Of course, Sentinel also remembered that it was forbidden. Primus, if Ultra Magnus got wind of it, he'd be slagged...! But, on the other hand, if he doesn't...Sentinel could always say that he was assaulted, anyway, and blame it all on Optimus. 

Clearing that up, he made a clumsy attempt to return the kiss, his glossa pressing against Bee's. The warnings multiplied, and they were very disturbing, but...it just felt so good...too good, almost. The larger Bot's frame was wrecked by tremors as he indeed leaned back to lie on the floor, unable to keep himself up straight. That energy the scout was talking about was indeed building, fast and steady. It was like a huge blazing fireball in his chest and Primus, those fingers on his grill and—and... The Elite moaned, loudly and without shame, his vents howling. 

The little 'bot moaned deliciously into the kiss and guided Sentinel hastily but skillfully through it, making up for the Elite's lack of experience by giving him some of his own. He grinned between kisses as Sentinel began to shudder and let loose an unchained cry, which caused Bumblebee to giggle at him and give a low hum of his own. He revved his engine and pushed his energies against Sentinel, kissed him harder and deeper and slipped his fingers between the slats of his grill, plucking some of the delicate wiring beneath.

The reaction to that was overwhelming. The Guard's frame went rigid and he cried out helplessly as the surge— the first surge of his life—swept over his insides. His sensory grid all but melted and he could have sworn a few cables snapped inside, had he the processing capacity to think. 

Then, he slumped back against the pleasantly cool concrete. His mind was buzzing pleasantly, and recharge seemed like a tempting option. Slaggit, this was good. 

Bumblebee arched, mewled and gave a long sigh as he drank up the energy pouring off of Sentinel's frame as he overloaded. His spark quivered and his systems spat heat, while he had a minor surge of his own—but he recovered quickly from it, optics flickering in confusion.

Without even giving second thought, he was nuzzling Sentinel's neck again, placing kisses on the cables there and pressing his lips against the soldier's again. He urged him away from the ebbing afterglow with firm strokes to his grill and light, fumbling strokes against his audios with trembling fingers. His spark still shook like a creature in withdrawal, making him rock lightly against Sentinel's broad frame with a needy whimper.

"W-what...?" The Prime blinked up in confusion, instinctively curling his arms around the smaller frame. "You...want another? You're crazy...!" Hey, it got him pretty tired; the little glitch should have offlined! The fact that maybe his partner hadn't experienced the surge never even occurred to him. He just rolled his optics and tried to gather his strength while Bee continued his ministrations. After all, it wasn't bad. And if such a little repairbot could undergo it twice, then Sentinel Prime could do it as well!

Except, to Sentinel Prime's overall dismay, a simple once-more go at it was not the case.

Three times in succession, Bumblebee brought him into overload. Each one came quicker than the last, and by the end of the third, the mighty Elite Guard soldier dropped flatly offline with no question. Every drop of energy he had, he spent, and Bumblebee took it all. Only after that was his spark's thirst thoroughly quenched.

Sated, the little 'bot arched like a minx and removed himself from Sentinel's cooling offline body, sighing happily and smiling. He felt like jelly and he was probably half-melted, but oh, it was so worth it, to feel at ease like this again. He looked down at Sentinel Prime. His smile widened, and he bent to wrap his arms around the soldier's shoulders one last time and place a secret kiss on his cheek. Perhaps the mech would be able to recall it when he awoke. "Maybe you're not so bad, after all," he purred quietly. "Though, I won't count on it. You _did_ insult my friends, and my mate."

The small, heated 'bot departed after that final word, prowling the halls once again, chipper and happy as he usually was...

...Only to crash mere hours after his last "meal."


	35. Medical Emergency

"Hold still, Bulkhead, or I can't get a proper sample." Despite having quarantined the young mech to his table and taking every possible precaution to not get further infection himself, and numbing Bulkhead to near stasis, Ratchet still couldn't get a good sample. He shouldn't have blamed Bulkhead, and perhaps he should have taken it back—his hands were trembling like a human with Huntington's. It was a great inconvenience for a medibot's hands to be unsteady as his were right now. Ratchet blamed it on his own infection and narrowed his optics with a growl, concentrating his hardest in a good long while. The longer this dragged on, the more he sensed his patient getting nervous; he was trying to get the sample as quickly as possible.

It was late afternoon outside now. At long last, Ratchet broke off a good sized chunk of barnacles with his forceps tool; promptly, he rushed it to a small plexiglass box and dropped it in, then snapped the box shut. With a sigh Ratchet rubbed some mild coolant off his brow. "That takes care of that," he said, beginning to bring Bulkhead back to sensitivity and closing his chassis again.

"We're not faring too well, are we?" The green giant mumbled, shoulder slumping as he finally sat up, rubbing his helm until the dizziness passed. "You tried several things and none of them work... And frankly, you're looking more and more handsome by the nano-click." He covered his optics. "If the energy deprivation doesn't kill me, the embarrassment will."

The medic slapped his hand down on the table irritably, glaring at the barnacles in the box. "I'm running out of slagging ideas!" Ratchet grumbled. "Cold will only put them in a temporary stasis, and heat just makes them spread. Everything else I could try is either suicidal or nonexistent!"

"We could try to spray them with acid...?" Bulkhead offered. He wasn't a medic. He knew how to build things and especially how to wreck them—he knew little of the delicate insides of a mech. "I don't even want to _imagine_ how Bee and Boss-bot could look on the inside. Do you think...the barnacles will eventually destroy the spark, too?" It was a horrible concept. Being eaten alive from the inside...the young wrecker shuddered at the thought.

"I'd hope the acid does that before the barnacles do," Ratchet grumbled. "No, any kind of acid is too drastic. It'd eat away the vital components along with the barnacles." He sighed heavily, joints creaking as he took a seat and put his face in one hand tiredly. "We need a new angle..."

"They're organic, right? What kills organics? Oh, yeah, radioactivity is one of those things." Television was an awesome invention, and albeit that movie made Bulkhead want to curl up and whine like a sparkling, at least it supplied some knowledge. 

Ratchet winced. His processors hurt trying to work this out. "But where in the name of Primus are we going to find any readily available radioactive rays that fit the purpose?"

Silence.

Then...Ratchet's optics lit up as it dawned on him. "Maybe we don't have to find it," he mumbled. "Maybe it's already here...lots of it." He looked at the barnacles in the plexiglass box, and picked it up, looking at his young patient. "Bulkhead, open up the window over there," he said, gesturing to a covered rectangular indent in the nearby wall.

The green giant slipped off the berth and obediently went to open the window. The sunlight streamed into the med bay; one could see dust dance in the thick ray. "Here you go."

A few seconds later, a strange noise reached the two mechs' audios—slow, uneven steps and soon enough, a fist pounding on the door. 

Ratchet was just setting the barnacles on the windowsill when the pounding began; frustrated as he was, the medic wasn't exactly in the best of moods, so when he went to answer the door, his response wasn't the most kind. "Do you mind _not_ pounding dents into my med bay door?!" he snapped, expecting it to be Bumblebee or someone else.

Anyone except Sentinel Prime...

Upon recognizing the mech, Ratchet sighed, though rolling his optics a bit wasn't below him. The fact that the Elite soldier had just taken his fist to the door so childishly served to prove his suspicions about the other's less than survivable behavior. "My apologies...work is difficult lately. Whaddya need?" 

Sentinel actually didn't look like the proud and arrogant Prime, now that the medic had a second look at him. He was definitely weatherworn. His expression was a mixture of confusion, worry and outrage; he grasped the doorframe to stand straight, his hand shook, and he tried to hide it behind his back. Most of all, his immaculate blue paintjob was scratched...in a very characteristic way. A few of his grill slats even had finger marks on them. 

"I—err." Sentinel cleared his vocalizer. "I need some medical attention...I think. I, uh, don't feel that well."

Ratchet didn't have to ask, and quite frankly he was afraid to, because he knew it would confirm his worst fears. He got a grim expression on his face, staring long and hard at Sentinel, and led the Guard inside. "By any chance, did you happen to experience this ill feeling after an overload...?"

Sentinel's head vents spat steam and his fingers, despite his deprived, weakened state, made dents on the doorframe. "It's that short little glitch's fault!" he claimed heatedly. "He assaulted me! I wasn’t armed with the proper knowledge to fend him off! How could I have, it's not done anymore—!"

"So Bee took your virginity," Bulkhead murmured in the background. He was having a hard time with keeping a straight faceplate.

Unfortunately, Ratchet didn't have the time or the will to laugh (though he did find it at least a little bit entertaining). Instead he glared at Sentinel and slapped his hand off of the doorframe. "I told you to quit abusing my door! And don't you go shoving this off on Bumblebee. It's not technically his fault. He's...sick."

Oh, Primus, but Ratchet could already feel the slagstorm coming.

"Sick...?" For a few seconds, Sentinel just frowned, as if trying to digest the information.

Then, the slagstorm hit.

"What do you mean, _sick_?!" he howled, wavering optics betraying his panic through the rage. "Like, he has a virus? Or something he picked up from these humans?! Why isn't he in quarantine?! Some medic you are, letting a sick mech run around and spread that filth to anybody else! Is it lethal? I demand a proper explanation!"

"Keep it down!" Ratchet snarled. This was exactly what he'd been afraid of. "I wasn't even aware of his illness until a few orns ago! Yes, he has a virus. It's an organic virus...a new strain of space barnacles wrapped around his spark chamber. Yes, there is a considerable chance it is malignant, which is why I've been working on finding a cure—" he hesitated. "—and it's...proven to be contagious."

For a change, the arrogant Prime sank down to the floor and curled up, covering his face with both hands. "Could I get something to drink...?" he asked, surprisingly politely. "I'm about to drop offline again..."

Bulkhead, as he had a huge spark, fished out a smaller can of good oil from his storage compartment and handed it over to Sentinel. It showed that the Prime was shocked; he even thanked him for it. After a long gulp from the thick liquid, he glanced up at Ratchet. "Do I...we have a chance to survive it...?"

"I believe we do," Ratchet replied, glad to see Sentinel calming down a little. It made the explaining a lot easier. "Although Bee and Prowl were the first to be infected, so I'm concerned for them the most. I assume, when Bumblebee approached you, that he was rather...insistent, wasn't he? And that he took you through multiple overloads?"

"It was...overwhelming..." Sentinel mumbled into his can. "Such a small frame...so much heat and such intense stimulation...! I couldn't resist...I tried, but it was futile... He...err, overloaded me three times. Then my systems gave up."

Ratchet sighed heavily. "This strain of barnacles feeds off of heat and spark energy. Overloads give them a nice boost, sucking up all of the charge it produces. The more they grow the more overloads they need...Bumblebee is getting worse." He rubbed his chevron as his processors ached with worry. "It pains me to say this, but he's...single-handedly infected the entire crew. The barnacles' need for highly-charged energy has made his... _appetite_ insatiable as of late."

"Ultra Magnus needs to know about this," Sentinel pointed out. "He sent me to fetch you, anyway. Of course now I've been delayed quite nicely..." he only bothered to check his chronometer. "Slag, I was out cold for an hour!"

His concern escalated. "It's been an hour since Bumblebee...?" Ratchet's optics squinted. He lifted his hand and opened up a communications link. "Bumblebee, this is Ratchet. Report."

Startlingly, there was no reply. "Bumblebee, report!"

Silence. Ratchet hissed. "Either he's out of range or he's got the slagging thing turned off. Neither is a good thing. If he's out of range, he's not sticking to the base, but..." his optics flashed wide. _Oh...slag_. "He can't really be thinking..."

Sentinel, for once, displayed an astonishing flash of sharp wit. "The Commander...?!" 

His example seemed to be contagious, because Bulkhead immediately comm-linked to Prowl. "Prowl, where are you? Have you seen Bumblebee?"

"No, not for the past five hours or so," the ninjabot replied. "I'm currently outside the city. Is there a problem, Bulkhead?" 

"Err, let's just say, you better come home," the green giant glanced at Ratchet, "to the med bay. Say, Prowl, haven't you been feeling weird lately...?" 

There was a pause, a considerably longer one that it should have been. "I'll be back immediately."

Ratchet looked at Sentinel. "You should call Jazz and tell him to come back to base as well. I'll go out and get Bumblebee. I feel partly responsible for not watching him...and I have a medical epidemic to contain."

Without another word, Ratchet transformed and was off. He seriously hoped he wouldn't be too late to throw Bee into stasis, or do something to stop him, before he could get to the Commander.


	36. Supreme Failure

It was strange.

Ultra Magnus had just come out of recharge. He had taken a nap while waiting for Sentinel to return with Ratchet. To the Commander's surprise, his condition showed itself again, and it made him—to be honest—quite scared. He remembered the good old medic and his excellent abilities and seriously hoped he could tweak something inside so the leader of the Elite Guard wouldn't collapse until they get back. 

But Sentinel was gone for quite some time now, and he didn't even reply to the comm inquiry. What could have happened? Was he in danger? Ultra Magnus was pacing in the command room, worried. A few more times Magnus tried to contact Sentinel, but it was little use. It had been at least an Earth hour, if not more. What could possibly delay the Prime for him to take this long?

Unbeknownst to the Commander, a small yellow figure watched him from a cloaked space of shadows. He had easily bypassed any security that stood in his way; although he himself was no hacker, he guessed it was through the energy pouring off of him. He noticed it happened to some of the smaller Sumdac bots on the roadside on his way here, too: his very presence was a danger to some smaller units...units unable to take the strain of the energy waves rolling off of his body in potent, thrashing heaves.

Bumblebee's hands jerked in nervous ticks and it caused his hidden stingers to rattle where they were stored. He truly felt awful for leaving such a wake of destruction, but there was nothing he could do. He was sweating coolant and his energy hadn't even lasted him this hour. He was afraid he would die if he didn't find another source.

But to be brought to this...to the Commander...!

His spark shouted at him to keep going. It stretched into the room as far as its energy could reach and Bee failed to stop it. He shook the reigning doubt from his processors. Doubt was something he couldn't afford in this state; no matter how shameful this was. 

The Commander suddenly stopped. What...was that? He swore he could feel... _spark energy_ nearby. It was a curious feeling; spark energy could only be felt in the very close proximity of an aroused mech. Now, he himself didn't feel particularly frisky, so...who could it be? Sentinel was not here—and it was a perfectly impossible thought, him being in a state of arousal. And Jazz was out, too. Magnus straightened and looked around. Could it be—no, no, the shield won't let through any Decepticon, and surely they...grew out of that nasty habit they sometimes practiced at the beginning of the war, when they were still bold enough.

No turning back now, if he was stopping that way. Bee didn't even have to guess that Ultra Magnus had picked up on him. He'd never been the best hider; the spark energy just emphasized his obvious efforts.

Bumblebee timed his advances just as Ultra Magnus turned in his direction, shuffling out of the shadows and suppressing his systems’ deprived shudders the best that he could. He tried to fake a smile through his pitiable state. "F—Forgive my intrusion, sir," he said, speaking quietly. "Can we, umm...talk?" 

The Commander frowned. "How did you get on board, Bumblebee?" he questioned and walked closer. "And you look a bit shaken; is there a problem?" 

And then, it hit him: a spark's sweet, tempting energy, calling out for him, luring him closer. It was not even arousal, not just an invitation; it was an open, fierce _demand_. Magnus's optics widened and he took a step back. "What...what is the matter with you, youngling?" 

Bumblebee's optics flickered a bit. He tried lying. "N-Nothing; nothing's wrong," he insisted, shaking his head and drawing closer. "I just...I need...umm...some advice. Everyone else is busy or away..." 

The commander let a huge intake cool his insides a little bit. "Ask then, and I'll try to answer to the best of my abilities." Primus, the youngling was broadcasting louder than any obnoxious radio station in the Youth Sectors! It took quite a lot of concentration to not act on impulse, and do something completely unworthy of a high-ranked officer of the Elite Guard. 

"I was just..." But Bumblebee trailed off as he noticed something. His hypersensitivity tuned him to the fluttering energy of Ultra Magnus' spark. There was something...off about it. A strain of the signature was different than Bulkhead's or Prime's, but so too had Ratchet's. That was just age. That strain wasn't the problem.

The problem was that the strength was significantly weaker somehow. It was well enough now, but...something about the way the energy felt, as much as Bumblebee wanted it, unsettled him. The concern struck his expression. Was the Commander sick at the spark?

"...S-Sir...I...your energy signature..." Bee's shame deepened and the doubt returned. He couldn't possibly—the others had all at least been in a stable condition, but the Commander—it wasn't right. What if he took too much and ended up hurting him...or _killing_ him? 

"You should check your own," Magnus managed to groan out between gritted teeth. This was getting ridiculous. His own spark fluttered merrily, prodding him to indulge into something naughty; after all, it had been so long! The yellow frame's fields tasted sweet and warm; he could feel it on his glossa. The commander's fingers curled up. "Something is definitely wrong with you, but what's with—" Wait a minute. The youngling could...sense it? Magnus clicked and his optics grew brighter. "I...have a condition...my spark chamber's energy supply wavers sometimes. It's nothing serious, just some clogged up tubes, but it's a bit distracting." 

Bumblebee ducked his head down and tried to pull back his energy as best he could. Whether or not it was serious didn't matter; the confirmation was what made him feel sick. He turned to leave the room. There had to be something else. There had to be someone else. "I-I-I'm obviously upsetting you. I'll just, umm, leave. Sorry, Commander...really sorry..." 

"Wait." The Commander was actually quite sure this was not a good idea, but he was not perfectly in control anymore of his own deeds, "What is it? Your spark energy is off the scale, it's practically _begging_ for an overload. That's it, simply? Or something else...?" 

The little figure was trembling as he started to move away, leering over his shoulder. "It's fine!" Bee snapped, sounding harsher than he meant to. He lowered his vocals to a reasonable level. "I can...I can take care of it. I know how to. Just...I don't want to hurt..." the yellow 'bot couldn't finish his sentence, afraid of some sort of repercussion from the Commander at discovering his true intentions. He didn't want to be blamed for anything; this wasn't his fault! He didn't know what it could be, but this...this _thing_ he'd become wasn't him.

Oh, but he _really_ should have gone to see Ratchet... 

"I don't think an overload would hurt me," the commander mused. "But why did you come to me? Why not see one of your comrades instead?" 

Silence pervaded the atmosphere for a while as thoughts flitted through Bumblebee's processors on an erratic and illogical track. The trembling worsened and his bottom lip quivered with the rest of him. He looked a few times, though briefly, at Ultra Magnus, meeting his optics. He was panicking.

Everything built to a head and Bumblebee finally dropped on his knees. He felt like he'd lost all strength in his frame. He dipped his head low until it was practically in his lap. His voice shook.

"I can't!" he cried. "I already hurt them enough! I can't... _stop_! There's something...something _wrong_ with my spark, and this is all I can do to fix it...but it doesn't really fix it, it's just gotten worse!" Bumblebee hid his head under his hands, fuel tank churning. "I'm sorry, Commander! Just...don't! I know this is affecting you, but...let me leave, please! I'll do something else! Once I'm gone, you won't even know—" 

Then, he felt a warm, heavy hand on his back, caressing soothingly. Ultra Magnus was trembling from the suppressed tension, but he couldn't just watch the youngling suffer. He carefully tipped Bumblebee's head up, looking into the feverish optics. "No one gets left behind," he cited the old rule, and ran a thumb over the little one's lips. He was so enticing in his misery; simply irresistible. The commander's own spark wanted to reach out and console his. The agony around the yellow frame was dense. 

The yellow frame froze from helm to feet and Bee's optics widened. At first, he shook his head. It was the first time he could remember outright denying what he needed. "D-Don't...Commander...what if I hurt you? Y-You said your energy supply...if I took it all away...!" 

He was hauled up to his feet a bit roughly, and then the commander's lips crashed against his. Ultra Magus couldn't help it—his resistance was blown away in the intensity of those fields. One of his strong hands cupped the back of the yellow helm, to keep the scout close; his other grabbed the shapely little aft possessively. He didn't give a damn about damage; he wanted the little ‘bot _now_! 

It was an understatement to say Bumblebee was shocked by the response. Still, with that sudden crush of closeness, the flare in his energy increased, and his will to resist plummeted. He tried to stave it off a little longer; but in the end, Bee whimpered, needy and pained, wrapping all limbs around the older mech's body like a lifeline and pushing desperately into the kiss. His spark was screeching in its casing, calling for an overload, for another meal of energy that it had decidedly waited too long for. 

He was lifted up, the lip-lock not even wavering and Magnus carried his prize to the consoles. He let Bee sit on top of it, and he began questing for hot spots on the smaller frame. Soon enough, his lips left Bee's, to explore the slender black neck, biting into it even, though not too painfully. 

Bumblebee stretched his neck out like an offering and let out a deep sigh. Just the contact was enough to get him to relax. Without even asking, he knew what the Commander was looking for. "My...horns, and the backs of my knee joints," he rasped, shuddering under Ultra Magnus' frame. Heat poured off of him and coolant rolled off his armor in thick rivering beads, as if trying to hurry the Commander along to the sensitized hot spots. 

"Antenna, side seams, insignia," the muffled reply came, as strong fingers immediately began to assault the scout's sensitive parts. Just like in the sweet old times, huh? The commander was a young mech once, long before the war, and he had a certain sort of...reputation. Back then, sometimes things went like this: quickly, roughly, ending in glorious surges. His bigger frame pushed against Bee's, making him lean back slowly against the consoles. 

The responses came instantly now. Bee stopped resisting and allowed himself to be pushed back, a submission he didn't mind at all. He was too busy shuddering and moaning without restraint as Ultra Magnus began to stimulate his hot spots, optics flashing so bright they bleached out their usual cyan color. Bumblebee squirmed restlessly, his vocals heavily laced with static as he gripped the Commander's shoulders. " _Ohh_...! Yes, _yes_ , like that...sir...! More! Please, more!" 

"Reciprocate!" The command was harsh and firm, on a voice which didn't tolerate any insubordination. The commander rubbed his front against the yellow chest; his insignia on the middle was slightly raised, and ground to the brighter chassis with a wonderful friction. Magnus revved his powerful engine, sending strong vibrations through Bumblebee's frame. 

Bee jumped a little. Steam warmed his faceplates. He fumbled to wrap his fingers around an antenna, to push up against the insignia on his chest. "S-S-Sorry," he stuttered, shivering again. He'd been so desperate for energy that he'd nearly forgotten. 

The stern faceplates softened somewhat and Magnus kissed Bee again, leaning his head slightly into the small palm. His vents heaved a sigh at the sensation; it was so nice after all this time... His core temperature was rising rapidly and his spark fluttered in its casing.

Barely contained were Bumblebee's squirming tendencies. Still, between nuzzling Magnus and stealing hard kisses, rubbing his antennae and grazing hot yellow fingers over his side seaming and arching against the older, larger frame, there was hardly a moment where he kept still. He built energy fast, drinking every drop off Ultra Magnus that mingled in their close proximity. He was so hungry for it that he didn't even know when he'd started to absorb it, or when he would be able to stop. He just encouraged the Commander with strokes, kisses and caresses that were only a few parsecs shy of frantic, systems heaving harsh cycles of air as the heat pushed beads of coolant through the seams of his armor.

The speed and intensity escalated, until the point where all cold composure the Commander possessed was gone—he was young again, shameless and very, _very_ aroused. The core temperature reached critical levels and the excess energy suddenly released in a burst, like liquid plasma, rushing through his insides. Magnus jerked up, his fingers denting the console surface as they dug into it and he screamed with his release. Even his spark lashed out, its energy seeping through layers of armor, most probably because it had been sealed and kept in solitude for so long. The overload was nearly too intense. 

Bumblebee all but collapsed at the rush. He spat lines of code in static and clutched himself to Ultra Magnus, soundlessly reaching his overload as his spark drank of the Commander's energy. It sucked everything down like a bottomless hole, everything vanishing into the abyss to keep Bumblebee's scrambled systems satisfied for just a little while longer. The amount from Ultra Magnus was great in magnitude and highly concentrated—perhaps, if he was lucky, it would last him longer than Sentinel had.

For a few blissful moments, Magnus just enjoyed the feeling of the blazing little yellow frame snuggling up to his; but then, something changed. His power levels, normally thrumming after an overload, had begun to sink as if something was draining them. His optics grew wide as he realized that the scout was practically sucking off his energy. His systems already blinked, not being able to maintain a constant flow, and his spark chamber was the first to become affected. With great effort, the Commander pushed himself off the console, trying to flee from the dangerous embrace.

Bumblebee wailed helplessly at the departure, looking at Ultra Magnus with a genuinely hurt expression. He rolled off the console and crumpled in a heap, legs trembling as he tried to stand back up. "W-Wait...!" He _needed_ that energy! He _craved_ it, he didn't know why, but he absolutely _lived_ on it. He was still shuddering with cold despite the intense heat, and he would die if he didn't have more! Bumblebee reached out for the older mech, so broken down that overheated fluid threatened to leak from his optics. "Why'd you stop? I'm still so dizzy! Commander—"

"Bumblebee!"

The new voice was enough to make his head turn; partially a habit, partially from shock. Still quivering, hand half-reaching for the Commander and his spark energy thrashing, Bumblebee laid eyes on a set of magnetized pincers aimed at him, threatening attack.

"That's _quite_ enough out of you, little one."

Bumblebee glared. "Keep out of this, Doc-bot!"

"I will not!" snapped Ratchet. His faceplates didn't relax. "I know this isn't your fault, Bumblebee, but this has to stop!" It didn't escape the good doctor to once-over Ultra Magnus and realize that there were scratches in his paint. _Fraggit_ , he'd been too late.

He kept his optics on the yellow 'bot. "You're _sick_ , Bee. The things you've been doing are the cause of some type of infection." Bumblebee's gaze went wide at this. "I can help you get better, but you have to _stand down_. That's an _order_ , soldier!" 

Bumblebee stood, frozen for a time. He didn't so much as take a cycle of air. He fell perfectly still, petrified at the revelation.

He'd thought...he'd thought, maybe that was it, but he'd been too blind to accept it. He'd been stupid, letting it go this long! And now—now that he _knew—_

_...Everyone he'd come into contact with..._

Bumblebee finally moved. He put his face in his hands, took backwards steps until he thumped against the consoles with a whimper and crumbled into a sitting position. The pounding, leech-like waves of the barnacles on his casing retreated. "Sh-Shut me off," he mumbled, crying louder, "Shut me off!"

Ratchet lowered and retracted the magnetic pincers, and calmly approached the distressed little scout. He crouched down and hushed him, listened to him cry about how sorry he was, how he'd never meant to do anything wrong. Ratchet eased his systems into stasis lock. He was afraid to do it because it would leave the barnacles unchecked, but being confined in his systems while they cooled in stasis would at least delay them, and he was even more worried about if Bumblebee were to remain online. He couldn't risk endangering anyone else any more than they'd already been...and it was clear that Bumblebee was hurting the most.

The medic looked up at Ultra Magnus, surveying his condition. "Sir," he said, almost too quietly, "If you're not severely damaged, I suggest you rally all the Autobots for an urgent meeting on the bridge...immediately."

"I'm afraid..." the commander said, leaning against the nearest steady surface, placing a hand on his chest, "...that will have to wait." And, with all the grace of a seasoned warrior, he collapsed, fingers frantically clawing his chestplate. His vents were completely silent, not like in other cases of distress. The blue optics dimmed and the strong frame trembled.

Ratchet's optics widened, and he hurried over to the Commander, leaving Bumblebee laid out on the floor.

And then he realized, on top of having just been infected, that his spark chamber wasn't completely stable. The energy flow couldn't have fluctuated at a worse time. _Frag_...

Ratchet worked as quickly as he could to at least get the Commander stable again. As soon as that chore was done, he would contact the other Autobots himself. Things were falling apart and they needed to coordinate. They _really_ needed to coordinate.


	37. Progress

Half a megacycle later, every Autobot was assembled on the ship's bridge. Ultra Magnus occupied his chair, looking a bit weary. A cube was in his hand and, almost automatically, he kept sipping it. Sentinel was rather grumpily curled up in his own seat. His hands were trembling lightly. Bulkhead chose to accompany Optimus, who was kneeling next to Bumblebee's motionless form, gently holding the small yellow hand. Worry was whining in him; he had no idea what was this all about, the others haven't said anything yet. Prowl and Jazz stayed on the side, close to each other. Ratchet could feel the subtle changes in their energy patterns, the telltale merry flutter of a freshly formed bond, even though the two cyberninjas appeared to be perfectly calm and indifferent. 

Finally, Magnus tilted his head up and started to talk. "Autobots, I have some very bad news. Some of you already know about it, but it turned serious enough that we're not allowed to ignore it any longer. I will not try to belittle the danger because it might have fatal consequences. We are facing with a medical emergency at the moment, an infection, which was unknown before to our kind—a plague of mutant space barnacles is upon us. Our medic," he gestured toward Ratchet, "will fill you in about the details."

The way Prowl tensed up on the side was barely detectable.

Ratchet had an ache in his CPU even as he began. "I'll start from the beginning," he mumbled, looking up to address the crew he was familiar with. "Do you all remember when Bumblebee and Prowl went into the forest with Sari several weeks ago—and how they were infected with space barnacles? Sari reported that she had burned them all off with steam and hot water. She did get rid of the worst of the barnacles. But it seemed that some of the specimens had reached deep enough to curl around the spark chamber and regenerate into a new strain.

"This new strain...feeds off of a constant supply of heat and energy. The heat it gets well enough from the spark chamber. This causes the barnacles to spread, which—as many of you may have noticed in Bumblebee and in yourselves—causes delirium and various malfunctions in the system. The quickest way to seek energy is to experience an overload;" here, Ratchet looked at Optimus, a bit concerned. He didn't think Prime would blame Bumblebee for anything, but he knew that it would hurt to know the truth of what he'd been doing.

"And... That’s why Bumblebee has approached the majority of you as he has. I have no doubt that nearly every 'bot in this room is now infected, because of that." Ratchet raised his hands, before anyone could protest. "But remember that this is not his fault! And also...I'm partially to blame for all of this. I should have pestered him for a check-up, but I didn't; consequently, I've only just recently come to realize the seriousness of this epidemic. I apologize to all of you. But I assure you that I am working on a cure. The infection is still fresh in many of you, and should be simple to destroy, if my theory is correct." _Nobody is offlining on my watch,_ he thought privately.

Sentinel curled up even more in his seat, shooting dark glances around and mumbling to himself. Bulkhead was watching Optimus, whose optics were wide and staring at Ratchet; eventually, a few clicks escaping from his vocalizer, but nothing more. He lifted Bumblebee's hand to his lips and kissed the small fingers. Then, he looked up at Bulkhead, and the green giant nearly cringed from the despair he saw in his leader's gaze. He was sure Optimus was a lot more worried for the scout than for himself. 

Prowl's fingers scratched on the metal console he was leaning on. Now it made sense. The odd dreams, the intense overloads, and his own strange behavior...it all made sense. He had been infected by the barnacles; he surely had the mutant version clinging to him, too...and they spread via intimate intercourse...Primus! He didn't dare to look at Jazz. 

Ultra Magnus slowly, carefully stood up and nodded to Ratchet. "Thank you. Now, I want all of you to stay calm and don't even think of accusing anybody, including yourselves. Even...I have fallen victim to this infection, but I completely trust Ratchet's abilities. The Elite Guard will stay here until the case is solved. We cannot risk dragging it back to Cybertron. It will be hard on all of us, and therefore, if any of you has trouble, seek medical help immediately. Ratchet, would it help if you examined all of us, to study the development of the barnacles?"

Ratchet shook his head. "I've already collected some samples from Bulkhead. He helped bring it to my attention and volunteered. We theorized that the barnacles may be vulnerable to a certain type of radiation, since nothing else we've tested seems to work." He paused, adding, "Though, I would like a check-up of every 'bot who hasn't received one, so that I can assess the extent of the damage. Those infected more than the others must be treated first before the barnacles can spread."

Magnus nodded, addressing all of them. "I believe every ‘bot here has an idea how serious his infection can be, so you are to report to the med bay in due time. Since it is a rather intimate topic, I expect you to be discrete, and treat it and each other with the proper respect. The meeting is now over." He wanted to collapse on his berth and recharge for two stellar cycles at least. Damn those barnacles...!

As everyone began to disperse, Ratchet had to separate Bumblebee from Optimus. He didn't want to leave Bumblebee outside of his care, but he did promise Prime that he could come by and see him, so long as he himself actually got some rest, and kept in reverent check.

Jazz was a bit disturbed by all of this as he and Prowl left, and couldn't help a shudder—the thought of space barnacles being inside a mech's systems unsettled him greatly. And he'd heard that Prowl had initially been infected, too...

"Hey." The fellow cyberninja nudged his newly bonded's shoulder. "Are you...well, are you feelin' alright? I think this explains a lotta your odd behavior..."

Prowl twitched from the touch and Jazz could feel all the fear whining in his darker lover's spark. "At the moment, I'm fine, Jazz; don't worry." He still refused to look at the other. "I just...need to have a word with Ratchet, if you could excuse me for a second." 

As soon as the Commander was out of sight, Optimus gathered Bee into his hands and listened to the medic's gentle words, nodding to everything obediently. "I'll...take him home, okay? And then you can check on me." He was resigned, mostly; he was smart enough to figure out that he might be in a very bad condition by now. But it didn't matter—he was not afraid for himself. But seeing Bee in stasis, those star-blue optics offline...it made his fuel tank contract painfully. 

Prowl stepped in at that exact moment. He could understand how his leader felt now, but of course, it did little to ease him. "Ratchet, Prime...I have a request. As the one who was first infected, I'd like to be examined first...and then Jazz, if that’s alright with you. I have a...personal reason to ask for it." He hoped Optimus won't ask. He had no problem with telling Ratchet, but only because the good old bot was a medic. 

Ratchet paused only briefly before giving a short nod. "If you wish;" he looked to their leader, "Prime, I'll meet you in the med bay. Don't wait for me." The medic bot stood and led Prowl away by the shoulder. "I sense you want to get this over with, so let's find someplace where nobody will bother us."

Optimus sensed that there was something serious behind the request; Prowl have never before mentioned 'private reasons'. He nodded to Ratchet and motioned to Bulkhead to follow.

The dark ninja took a deep intake and finally glanced at his bondmate. As much as he was concerned and ashamed...he needed Jazz's closeness right now. He didn't even need to beckon; his spark called the saboteur closer. 

Jazz followed along after the two when Prowl came into sight again, wondering about the other's state. Eventually, the black-and-white ninja offered up his room for a private place to be examined—this was an exploration ship that was without a med bay, because neither Ultra Magnus nor the rest of them had foreseen this type of disturbance.

The space wasn't too large, but it wasn't cramped, either. It was simply furnished, but Jazz had brought along a few of his personal possessions to liven up the otherwise empty space for the travel here--some small figurines, dimly glowing psychedelic lamps and a few hanging scrolls that gave the room a touch of what the humans might call 'feung shuei'. 

"Stand there and hold still," said Ratchet, directing Prowl to one open space in the room. Jazz leaned against a steady piece of furniture with his arms patiently crossed, waiting as Ratchet gave the smaller mech's systems a thorough scan.

After a cross of confusion and three more scans, if the look of utter relief on his faceplates wasn't a give-away, the words he spoke certainly were. "Prowl, you're completely clean. Any trace you had of the barnacles has been obliterated."

Prowl clicked in surprise, covering his still open midsection with one hand. His vents hummed up as he looked at Ratchet, then Jazz, then Ratchet again. Then his plating snapped shut, and he grabbed the saboteur's hand. 

"Him, too...check him, Ratchet, please!" He didn't let go of the hand in his grasp.

Jazz was just as relieved as Prowl was, but with that revelation, he wasn't entirely sure that he had to be checked. It wouldn't hurt anything, though, and so he opened up his middle and allowed Ratchet a thorough scan. Just like with Prowl, Ratchet gave it a few scans through, and then a smile broke out on his face.

"He's clean, too, Prowl. You're both stable and barnacle-free."

For once, the ninjabot allowed himself to display some emotion; his vents heaved a sign and he slumped against Jazz. "Thank Primus!" he whispered, "But...how could that be possible? I was the first one to be attacked by the barnacle monster. Maybe Sari managed to purge them from my systems completely?"

"No, I don't think so." Ratchet thought for a moment. "Did you experience any similar symptoms that Bumblebee did? Delirious temperature, trouble recharging, an oddly compelling need for energy...?"

Jazz's visor flickered a bit. "Uh..." he rose his hand, "I think we could both attest for that last part. Prowl caught me alone, an' he...we..."

"Bonded?" Ratchet smirked. It made him feel young again, to know that such a thing was still possible. He wondered if anyone on Cybertron even thought about bonding anymore since such acts had been banned. "Congratulations..." the medic stopped, thinking for a moment, before he snapped his fingers. Sparks flew from the fingertips. "That must be it. If Prowl was infected beforehand, and it's gone now, the energy you two put out forging the bond must have seared the barnacles right off; a sudden flare of excess heat and energy that they couldn't take in. It makes perfect sense."

"Who would've thought?" mused Prowl, smiling up warmly at Jazz, "It really cured me." He rubbed his chin. “About the symptoms...yes, troubled recharge can be checked, but I didn't really feel the need to seek out others. However, I had very vivid and detailed dreams which pushed me close to overload...then, some self-service took care of the problem. I guess...it displays differently for everybody, because Prime doesn't seem to be too keen on getting his hands on us, either. Probably poor Bumblebee took it harder due to his size." 

Ratchet nodded his head, listening intently. "If I had to put my finger on it, I'd say it may have something to do with adapting to personality. You tend to keep quiet a lot of the time and don't concern us with many of your personal problems. Bumblebee, on the other hand, is so outgoing and people-oriented...and _stubborn_..." Ratchet frowned. "I'm worried about him and Prime the most, now, frankly. Bee is...I don't think I want to take him out of stasis until I've explained all of this to Optimus in detail. He may have some questions still."

"I feel kinda bad for everyone else, though." Jazz was frowning deeply. "Ol' Ultra Magnus even got hit by it...but if he trusts ya, Ratchet, then so'll I. Ya seem like a very capable medic, anyhow;" he smiled, "I'm sure you'll find a way to get this under control."

Ratchet sighed heavily and rubbed his chevron to ease the ache in his processors. "Thank you, Jazz. I have my work cut out for me, but thank you."

"If you need our help, then call us immediately," Prowl nodded. "And good luck with the others. Don't let Prime worry himself sick over Bee."

Ratchet snorted. "Asking that last thing of me is like asking time to stop."

+0+0+

Somewhere else, a ways down the halls of the ship but not quite off it yet, Optimus Prime carried his stasis-locked yellow lover gingerly in his arms for the trek home. Bulkhead lumbered somberly along behind him, almost as worried for the little mech as Prime himself. The connection those two had forged between themselves surely meant that Prime worried for him the most out of anyone.

And just behind the both of them, invasive, stomping steps loudly caught up.

"A _barnacle epidemic_ started by your glitch-headed yellow friend and fueled by a near incompetent medic—you'd better hope by Primus this all falls through, Prime, or else it'll make one Pit of a story back on Cybertron! You can be _very_ well assured of that!"

The always abrasive Sentinel: he hated to waste time without pointing fingers.

Optimus' optics narrowed and he threw an icy look over his shoulder. "I believe Ultra Magnus asked us to behave like fully functional mature soldiers. Who’d have thought one of us would have trouble with that?"

"I _am_ functional and mature!" brayed Sentinel, barely out of range of shouting. He pointed a vicious finger at Optimus, prodding him in the back. "Look, you: that little yellow menace got to Ultra Magnus! _Ultra Magnus_! And it's no big secret that he's a tired old mech with spark problems—he's a primary figurehead to the Autobot forces, and we need him! If he _offlines_ because of this, I'll take all three of you straight to a Court Marshall—you, that stinger there _and_ your rust-bucket medic!"

A low, menacing growl built up in Bulkhead's mighty chest, reverberating through his entire frame, but Optimus shook his head. "No need to get riled up by it, Bulkhead. Sentinel can do whatever he wants to. I don't see Ultra Magnus accusing any of us, and I'm also sure that if, perchance, he were about to offline, he wouldn't get terminated before making sure nobody is punished for something he committed under outside influence. Now, I'll take Bee to the med bay. Sentinel, you're free to follow and glitch as much as you like. I know you're a master of foul speech." He simply resumed walking forward, hugging the limp little frame in his arms closer to his chest. He seemed so fragile now, so vulnerable...

Sentinel didn't follow.

Instead, he stopped, stared as Optimus walked off and blinked furiously. He sputtered puzzled lines of static, leering at the red-and-blue mech as if checking to see if it was the same person.

"...Buh...guh...what's _with_ you?!" he cried exasperatedly, tailing after Optimus after he shook his head and got his bearings again. "Aren't you the least bit concerned?! You sure don't sound it!"

Optimus actually stopped. He turned to Bulkhead and gently placed his precious cargo into the huge green arms, then faced Sentinel. 

"Maybe because I won't get a lubricant leak when facing a dangerous situation," he said, dangerously calm. "Just for your information, Sentinel, I _am_ worried. I worry for the Commander whom I deeply respect and admire. I worry for my team, each and every Bot. I worry for Jazz and even for you, and also myself, but most of all, I worry for Bumblebee. I have an idea in what kind of condition he might be in, and I also love him. We became lovers shortly after we awoke, and right now, my spark feels like breaking to see him like this."

Again Sentinel froze. The Prime blinked his optics again a few times, and once or twice opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. His faceplates contorted in a deep snarl and his optics narrowed in anger.

But then his optic ridge creased a seam down the center, and everything flashed from anger to pain.

He turned away. "Well, look at you, finding yourself a wired-up little sparkling." He growled bitterly. "At least you _have_ someone...happy days and all that lot, Optimus."

The mech left without another word spoken.

Bulkhead watched the soldier go with a puzzled expression. "Umm...Boss-bot...?" 

Optimus shook his head. "Never mind, Bulkhead; never mind. Let's just get Bee into the med bay and relax a bit before Ratchet returns.”


	38. The Distance Of Close

Things were getting a little out of hand. Ultra Magnus, Supreme Commander of the Elite Guard, was getting restless. Of course, he knew what the cause was, and that he couldn't do anything about it, but that didn't make it any bit easier to bear—quite the contrary. He was angry—not at the poor little scout, of course, but at himself. He was a victim as much as any of them. He was angry because he couldn't get his body under control. He'd definitely gotten older, for sure.

Of course, it could have been easy to remedy the problem, but...Sentinel was out of question, and Jazz...Magnus suspected those glances the saboteur shared with the slender Prowl meant certain things. And since he always had been a team player, so to speak, there was only one option left.

By the time the darkness descended on Earth and the others sank into recharge, Magnus was really on the edge. His processors were screaming at him, so he quickly snuck up on deck, closed the doors, and breathed life into the communications.

It was luckily one of the cadets' days off back home on Cybertron; of course, his call of choice would have been available anyway, but because of the day off, Magnus was treated to a special first: Hot Rod just coming out of recharge. He'd taken the opportunity to catch up on some lost sleep, and as he answered the videophone in his quarters, his optics were still half-off and flickering lazily, and he was smiling a bit tiredly when he saw Ultra Magnus. "Ahhm, hey, sir..." The cadet's vocals were still laced with morning static, despite it being late afternoon. "Why the sudden call?"

Something—fortunately very deep inside—was telling the Commander to make all sorts of stupid noises at the sheer cuteness of the sight. However, he restrained himself. "I'm terribly sorry to disturb your much-deserved rest, Hot Rod," he said, "But..." Well...he didn't want to scare the kid... "I'm...in need of your assistance for a while. We've got a situation here. We'll overcome it, but still, I would...appreciate...some help."

Hot Rod blinked a few times, both from just waking up and because he was curious. "Umm...sure, but I don't think there's a lot I can do this far away."

"Never underestimate your charms." _Was he really saying that...?_ "Alright, Hot Rod. Listen to me. And promise you'll stay calm; you're an Elite Ensign. The Bots currently staying on Earth are facing a...rather unique epidemic. All of us were infected by it."

He grew a little more alert. He knew what an epidemic was. "E—Even you? Is everyone alright?"

"Even I, but we'll live. The medic here is working on the cure; we'll be alright." Magnus assured the youngling. "However...it's a very special type of space barnacles. They stay very small and attach to the insides of a mech, draining its energy. Plus, they can somehow manipulate their host to feed them, so to speak: they demand more and more energy. Should the host deny it...they can get very persistent."

Hot Rod shuddered and sank against the desk. "Ugh, space barnacles! Disgusting little things...!" He bit his lip. "S-So...ah...how exactly do they get the energy...?"

Magnus sighed. "In most- in each and every case we have here, they prompt the host to engage into sexual activity, which eventually leads to an overload. During the surge, a tremendous amount of energy gets released, which suits the barnacles' needs just fine. I...I have to admit, I fell victim to one of the Bots here. He was not aware of his condition, merely tried to keep his body working, and...I failed in resisting him."

The Ensign wasn't quite sure what to make of it. It was an odd condition, to be sure...

"But...don't worry about it. You'll all be fine, right? After the medic comes up with a treatment, you'll be fine." That's about all he had to say, though; after that, Hot Rod stared at the camera, heat steaming in his cheekplates. He was a bit embarrassed to continue. "Th-Though...so this means...what? That I-I'm supposed to help you _that way_? We're light-years apart, sir..."

"I can still see you," Magnus drawled, one finger tracing the screen. "You don't have to, but, you're the only one I can seek out with a clean conscience. Please; I know it's embarrassing, and even a little strange, but help me, my youngster. I know I haven't told you much about this, but with my guidance, it'll be just fine. You might even genuinely like it."

Hot Rod frowned a little, mulling the thought over in his processors. He even pouted a bit, glancing nervously about.

"...A-Alright...I mean, it _is_ a little strange, but I don't want you to suffer. How is this going to work, though...?"

"Easy." Magnus's grin was just a touch too smug. "Sit back in your chair, like I do." He shifted a bit, to be more comfortable. "Relax. This will not hurt you. Clean your vents, my youngling. Have I ever told you how becoming your paintjob is...?"

He sat back, obedient but still puzzled. "I don't think so..." Hot Rod replied, a curious look on his face. He wanted to see where his Commander was going with this.

"Now you know. If you feel comfortable, offline your optics; can you still picture my face? And can you recall that night of your graduation? When I kissed you?"

The ensign didn't offline his optics just yet, but he did pause to get a distant expression as he thought back on that day. A small, somewhat proud smile crossed his lips. "Mm-hmm...I liked that. The idea surprised me at the time, though."

"I couldn't hear you complaining." Magnus smirked, and touched his own lips with a finger. "I can still recall how your energy fields tasted...so fresh, so eager." The finger idly traced the smooth metal. "You were a bit shocked, yes, but you didn't pull away...you answered to my kiss, slipping your glossa into my mouth, trying to copy my motions. And then, you asked for more."

As he always was, Hot Rod once again proved to be a quick learner. He smiled a bit, mimicking his Commander with a pair of fingers on his lips as a warm wave tensed his systems a bit. "I liked where I was, warm and comfortable...it's a nice feeling, being with you. I had every right to ask for more."

"I'm certainly flattered," Magnus chuckled and his optics flickered back online. He wanted to see the expression on the youngster's faceplates. "Now, you know what? When I get back, and you'll have a day off, you'll come to my quarters. I'll kiss you again, many times, and when your lips will be hotter than I can bear...I'll move lower, to your neck, to nibble on the cables and struts."

Hot Rod visibly tensed, his frame warming slightly. Just listening to the Commander speaking with his deep voice as he described these acts was enough to make his vents increase their cycles. He smiled, running an idle finger over one of the thicker cables in his neck. "I wouldn't want you to stop," he replied, "I'd hold you close and you wouldn't be going anywhere. Both hands would be on your sides...well, one might be on your chestplates."

"The sides will be fine," Magnus smirked. "The seams are sensitive, just like the insignia on my chest." He traced the Autobot crest and his vents hummed up, "As are my antennae. Let me see...your flame deco might be one of your hot spots...perhaps the indentations on your shoulders. Would you mind finding out?"

The ensign blinked his optics a few times, but froze only briefly before he shook his head, sitting up as his attention was caught. "N—No, not at all...!"

"Well then..." the Commander's voice was a purr, "Please, go ahead. Run your hand over your chest, slowly and lightly. I will do that to you too, once I get close enough." He leaned closer and, secretly, he began to caress his own sides, tracing the seams to get himself more in the mood.

Hot Rod hesitated for a moment—if only because he'd never done this sort of thing before—and glanced down quickly, curiously running his hand over the flame paint on his chassis.

Almost instantly, his vents pulled air into his systems and he traced the pattern meticulously, optics flashing bright. It felt...strange, but not terrible. It was warm and it tingled a little. "Th...That feels really nice..."

"That is good. If it's warm and slightly buzzing, that's how it should be. Eventually, it'll get much hotter; your system will even warn you about it, but pay no attention—it's normal. Now, your shoulders; dip your fingers into that hollow piece; trace the plating. Oh, if I get back, I'll fondle the spoiler on your back...I wonder how you will look like once I do that." Magnus sighed. Aah, it was barely enough. He wanted to reach out and hold his youngster close...he was such a beautiful piece of chassis.

He took Magnus' instructions to spark and pressed his fingers into the indent of one shoulder. Hot Rod practically melted against the seat he was in, letting out a soft moan at how nice it felt. His systems were warming up nicely and he shuddered as his engine rumbled. The look on his face was entirely peaceful, completely absorbed in everything Ultra Magnus was saying. He smiled a bit, chuckling. "I'd probably look like this...I always liked the spoiler being messed with. Kept me calm when I got—nnh—nervous..."

"Beautiful..." the Commander murmured, "I'll kiss every inch of your plating, my lovely...down to your waist, your thighs...I'll make you moan and have your intakes gasp for air. I'll watch you shudder from overload, right in my arms." Now he was getting heated up nicely, as well. His free hand began to trace an antenna, from base to tip, slowly.

"Aah...Hot Rod..." He wanted more. He wanted to see the cadet writhe in that chair and tense up, whining from pleasure.

There was little to be disappointed about; Hot Rod started to squirm after a few moments, his vents cycling so loud they could be heard through the transmission. He ran his fingers over his chassis and in the pockets of his shoulder armor, and a few times he nudged his spoiler against the chair behind him to stimulate a little friction along the length of it. Eventually, Hot Rod was half-curled in the seat with his optics offline, shuddering and heating up until the warnings began to appear. He forcefully pushed them out of sight and mind, moaning quietly, hands roaming over every part of him that Magnus said he would kiss and touch. "C...Commander...aah...!"

The broken voice calling him by his rank instead of his name served as a further impulse for Magnus—the power had an intoxicating taste, and although he was always an honorable and just leader, he wasn't completely immune to it. _"Yesss..."_ he hissed, rubbing his antenna with more force." You sound wonderful, my lovely youngling...you'll be mine soon, very soon, I promise. You'll lie on my berth, pinned down by my weight, trembling and yelling from pleasure. Look at me, my soldier." He leaned back and with his dignity thrown into the corner, the proud leader of the Autobots moaned loudly, faceplates tensing, fingers working frantically over his own frame.

Hot Rod arched and made the most delightful noises as Ultra Magnus' powerful voice moaned through the connection; he flicked his optics online, and the sight that greeted him—his Commander, lax against his seat, moaning in the throes of passion—was enough for him to rush towards the peak and soar high. Hot Rod snapped tense and the arch sharpened in his back as he gave a low but audible cry, lightning sparking over his frame as he overloaded, warmth spider-crawling through his systems and frying every circuit and nerve-end with a delicious sizzle that left him quivering in his chair.

Primus, the youngling was a piece of art. The wild abandon in the pleasant voice, the radiance of the very first overload on those finely crafted faceplates, coupled with a few more strokes against his own hot spots pushed Magnus over the edge, too. He tensed and with a low moan and let the surge wash over him as well, blazing optics fixed on the screen, taking in the exceptional sight. His spark sang, and as the wonderful shock tapered off, he kept on watching Hot Rod, with a fond smile.

"Are you alright, my youngling?" he asked finally.

The only working response the Commander could receive was a shiver and a slow nod. Hot Rod's venting systems sighed and he curled up heavily into the chair, humming his satisfaction. "I could stay like this for the rest of the orn," he purred, smiling wide.

Magnus smiled widely. "I take it this means you'd be willing to repeat the experience. You looked lovely, by the way. And, thank you for your assistance. I feel a lot better now."

Hot Rod laughed a bit, smile turning sheepish. "You...ah...you looked good, too..." he chuckled, "We _should_ do this again. But next time it'll be a lot closer, right?"

"Hopefully," the Commander agreed. "I wanted to touch you so badly. I'll be missing your kisses until we can go back. Will you behave?"

The ensign gave another nod. "Insistently so," he promised.

"Good." Magnus purred with a content, smug grin. "Well then, I know that young systems need rest after their very first overload...and it's late here, too. Get a small cube for yourself, my youngling, and rest. May the stars watch over you."


	39. Bonds 01

The medbay was silent, shrouded in a semi-darkness, the only light source being the moon's silvery rays and several devices and security lamps. Bee was laying on a medical berth, so peaceful and relaxed as if in recharge; but Optimus knew the difference. The soft sound of the vents was too quiet, and the spark chamber too cold.

The young leader gently caressed the yellow chestplates open and sprayed some cooling liquid on the insides. If he strained his optics, he thought he could see the barnacles - they were growing, stealing Bumblebee's life and radiance, and he couldn't do anything about it except delaying the end a bit - Ratchet showed him how to. The cold put the barnacles to temporary stasis, buying a little time for the scout. 

Optimus let his vents heave a deep sigh. He was infected, too, But still, he only worried for Bee. He felt powerless. 

Ratchet had been going in and out of the med bay all day, mostly taking his time checking on everyone else in the team and going into the bay when he was to monitor the barnacles on the windowsill and to check on Bee and Optimus. For the most part, that was how it was--except for a couple of occasional extra visitors, such as Sentinel Prime.

Sentinel came in a little after Optimus, and watched in silence as the red-and-blue mech cared for his little yellow mate, optics narrowed a bit. There was a small twinge in his spark casing as he observed, before he cleared his vocals to get Prime's attention. 

"Hello Sentinel." Optimus said quietly, not turning. He was caressing the yellow head fondly, tracing the tiny horns. Oh, at any other time, Bee won't be so silent if he did that...!

"Anything you'd like from me?" 

"I just...wanted to thank you for all the help," said Sentinel, drawing a little closer in the space and still watching as Optimus fawned over the yellow mech on the table. He frowned a little bit.

"...So you really care for him, huh." 

"With all my spark," Optimus nodded. He turned a little to look at Sentinel. "You're welcome, by the way." He smiled. "Sorry that I laughed." 

Sentinel hummed low. "And what about Elita?" he demanded. "Have you forgotten about her?" 

The young Prime actually cringed. He didn't want to mention that he discovered what happened with Elita... That wouldn't have done anything good neither to Sentinel. 

"No, in fact, I haven't..." he said slowly and suddenly, something stirred in his processors. "But why did you bring her up? Because I... didn't care for her enough?" 

"No. I just don't like the fact that you seem to have dismissed her so easily." He had his arms crossed behind him, leering at Bumblebee and Optimus each in turn. His spark twinged again. "...I suppose I should be happy you've found someone, anyway." 

A blue hand touched his arm plating lightly. "You've loved her, haven't you?" Optimus asked softly. There was no malice or mocking in his optics, merely compassion... And the gleam of old companionship. 

Sentinel jerked slightly, but was silent. His optics flickered and his head lowered; he still stared at Bumblebee. "...She was everything to me. And we left her there to die." 

The young leader's hold tightened. "Sentinel... Why didn't you ever say it...? We should have crossed a lot more rules back then." He wanted to say 'she's alive!', but couldn't. Not when she was half organic, a strange freak to her own kind and had a Decepticon insignia on her. Sentinel wouldn't have understood. Either he followed the military way and killed her; or let Blackarachnia kill him. Optimus's spark twisted in its chamber. He remembered how devastated Sentinel had been... But it was too late. 

The mech's gaze snapped to Prime in an angry glare and he jerked away from the comforting touch. "You didn't _want_ to. Remember? You pronounced her offline. We left because you insisted she was dead!" 

"I meant the thing about bonding..." Optimus lowered his head. "And don't think she was not haunting my recharge. She still does, at times. But regardless, you're right. We should have gone back... I trusted my scanners too much." 

"How was I supposed to know what bonding was?" growled Sentinel. "It's only because of your little yellow mate that I figured out what all of this was about anyway." 

"He figured out on his own, too..." the young leader spread his arms. "Don't get me wrong, Sentinel, I'm not accusing you with anything. I've never did. I had no right to do that, absolutely none. I just wish..." He paused. "Maybe if we've known about it, things would have turned out differently. She liked you." 

Sentinel grumbled and backed away. "Too late for that now," he mumbled. "I'm busy being a member of the Elite Guard, anyhow. Not like we're ever still enough for me to find things like that." 

Optimus looked up. "Don't loose hope, Sentinel. Love can come to all of us. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. Let's hope there won't be another war. Let's hope things will turn out right. Let's dream... like we did before. The three of us." He reached out for his former friend. 

The mech stood still, frowning with a deep look of thought. He stared at Optimus for a while, and then shook his head, scoffing. "Still so hopeful," he mumbled, turning away. "I'll think about it...but I'm not going to put all my faith on one outcome." 

Optimus' fingers curled up weakly. "I hope you'll find happiness too. I honestly wish you luck." 

There was a long silence as Sentinel reached the doorway of the med bay. He paused as he was about to leave, and gave Optimus a glance over his shoulder. "You too, Optimus..." he said quietly, turning down a corridor and leaving it at that. 

oOoOoOoOo

 

Three agonizing days passed as Ratchet waited for some sort of development on the barnacle sample. Finally, then, after three days, he found a change.

The barnacles had shrunk, and nearly shriveled away completely. The UV light from the sun--as he'd originally theorized--had done the trick. It had been a very slow process, but it made Ratchet grin wide and nearly cheer. All they had to do was find some way to speed up the process with concentrated UV light.

That wasn't much of a problem, either--Ratchet eventually found on the Internet something that would do the trick quite nicely, and spread the word among the camp, as well as calling on Sari to enlist her aid in finding the right tool. They would need a medium-pressure germicidal lamp--something that the humans used to kill germs with high-intensity UV waves of light, often used in some places for the purification of water. 

Sari quickly enlisted Captain Fanzone, telling him the Autobots were sick, and the police officer eventually managed to 'borrow' such a lamp. Prowl and Jazz quickly volunteered to help and the tool was transported to the Autobot base. Ratchet used it on himself first, wanting to know if it works; and it did, splendidly. 

So splendidly in fact that it fried some of the medic's circuitry in the process. Ratchet was forced to face the fact that some of the materials used in composing their metallic insides, were not really compatible with UV light.

Several hours later, the lamp was taken apart then reassembled; now it concentrated its light to a smaller area, which could be positioned more precisely. It was a sight to see how the pesky little troublemakers shriveled and fell off of Bulkhead's spark chamber. Ratchet let the euphoria of success wash over his troubled, tense processors then quickly called the Elite leaders. 

There was a small suspicion nagging at the medic's spark though; namely, that the two most infected bots had barnacles all over their insides... And while the chamber's metal withstood the UV light... The brain module wouldn't. 

The joy and relief was felt by all as Ratchet administered the "cure" to Sentinel and Ultra Magnus; but when it came to Optimus and Bumblebee, Prime had insisted on Bee getting treated first. Some of the Autobots had even gathered around in anticipation, waiting for Ratchet to give him the UV light.

But Ratchet outright refused.

"It's too far advanced in Bee's insides to get all of it with the UV light safely. The barnacles are too deep," Ratchet explained. "The spark chamber would survive, but some of the more delicate circuitry around it would be completely fried." 

Prowl and Jazz looked at each other, then at the ground. Ultra Magnus frowned. "And what about Optimus Prime?" Now that he was alright, he could worry more for his soldiers. Wash-out or not, he still considered Optimus one of his. He was wrong about the youngster, and his spark clenched when he thought that he, or the sweet little scout could offline permanently. 

Ratchet's frown deepened. "...With how much exposure Bee has given him, I doubt the UV will do anything for him, either..."

"So you're just telling us they'll offline?!" Bulkhead cried. "That's crazy, Ratchet! There's gotta be something you can do!" 

Prowl looked at Ratchet. "There... is a way. You may have noticed that neither I, nor Jazz had to be subjected to the radiation. It has a good reason."

Ultra Magnus raised an optic ridge. So those two... really-? 

Ratchet glanced up. He'd been worried about saying that out loud...

"Um," Jazz began, picking up where his bonded left off, "Prowl got to me when he was infected, and...we ended up...bonding sparks. When Ratchet checked us later, we were both completely clean."

Bulkhead stared at the both of them in awe, and Ratchet began to turn slowly to Optimus, who was sitting next to Bumblebee. "Optimus," he said, "I know this isn't the way either of you must've planned it. But...you two care deeply for each other, and unless you want the barnacles to win, I'm afraid this will be your only option." 

The young leader's vents hummed up loudly from the embarrassment. He certainly didn't plan on a whole squad learn about it... "But we- There's a war coming up.." Oh, slag it all to the Pit...! He was scared. No, he was terrified. "But Ratchet, if... if I fail?" He pleaded, hands trembling lightly. "If I can't, then what? The barnacles could just get another boost out of it instead of dieing...!"

The Commander smiled discreetly. Aww. Such love and tender care, and devotion... It was sparkwarming to see. 

"That won't happen." Ratchet approached and bent with Optimus next to Bumblebee. "Listen. Prowl and Jazz went through the same ordeal, and they're both fine, aren't they? This is the only way. You two can do it." He smiled at Optimus, patting his shoulder and lowering his vocals to speak more privately. "I know it's embarrassing for everyone to know. I was hoping it wouldn't come to that, but you had to know somehow. You can do it. Don't be scared." 

Optimus offlined his optics and clicked a few times. Then, he glanced at Bumblebee. He couldn't let him die.

"Get him out of the stasis, Ratchet. Can you delay it so he won't wake until he's in my room...?" 

Ratchet nodded slowly. He stood, and turned Bee a little bit so he could reach the stasis cables. He fiddled with the systems a little, and there was a short wash of electricity, but Bumblebee didn't yet awaken. The medic locked gazes with Optimus.

"You've got about a breem. Go now, and take him with you." It was a gentle encouragement, rather than a command. 

The young Prime nodded and gathered the small frame into his arms. Just before he could take a step, he felt a hand on the shoulder. The Commander was smiling at him. "Relax and let it happen. May Primus bless both of you."

"I..." Optimus stared then smiled faintly. "Thank you, Sir. I'll do my best." Prowl nodded at that. He had no doubts, either. His best wishes, though they were unvoiced, followed their young but great leader as he disappeared behind his own door. 

When the two had gone, Ratchet turned to the group and asked them politely to disperse and go about their business, and that everything would be alright.


	40. Bonds 02

Meanwhile, Optimus was allowed the time given to take Bumblebee to his berth and to lay him down there to wait. He made it there in less than a breem, so there was some time of silence--eventually, Bumblebee's systems whirred to life, and he stirred stiffly, optics flickering. He winced, vents gasping almost, and the first thing he came to recognize was Optimus standing over him.

Too stiff still from stasis, he couldn't crawl back, but it made him let out an almost fearful sort of sound. 

"Hush, hush my beautiful star," Optimus whispered, cupping the yellow helm gently. "It's been a while. Several days. Take it easy, take a few deep intakes. You're stiff, I know, but it'll pass. I'm here with you. Don't fear." 

Bumblebee's optics flickered and he tried to shift, pressing his lips tight as his vents took harsh intakes. "O--Optimus--I--!" 

"Hush! I know. It's not your fault. First, come back online properly, and then we'll talk." He leaned closer, touching his forehead to Bee's. "I love you, no matter what. Do not doubt that. Whatever happens, I'll be always there for you." 

The yellow mech whimpered a little, pouting deeply. He shifted for a long time, squirming helplessly as he came out of recharge, and then reaching out to grab one of Prime's arms.

"I'm...sorry," he managed through the groggy static. "S-So sorry...I didn't mean any of it..." 

"Bee? Shut up," Optimus smiled, though. "I know. Nobody is accusing you with anything. Are you doubting my word? So what if I told you Ratchet had found a cure?" 

"He did?" said Bee, crying out weakly with surprise. "Th-Then, is everyone else okay?!" 

"Yes, each and every one of them, rest assured," the young leader nodded. "Only we two are left. Ratchet managed to scorch off the barnacles with UV light, but... It can damage our insides, too. You and I, our infections are more serious, Ratchet told me that he can't risk attempting the same thing." 

The excitement dropped and Bee's face slacked. "...B...But then...what are we gonna do...?" 

Optimus took Bee into his arms and cradled him to his chest. "We figured out that there's another way... A surge too intense fries off the barnacles. But... No ordinary overload could do that, only..." he clicked, despite himself. "Sparkbonding, my star." 

A sharp intake of vents and a series of stuttering clicks became the answers to Prime's statement. Bumblebee curled up against his frame, his spark pulling harshly at the suggestion and making him whimper. Now that he was conscious, the waves began to ebb into the forefront, very weak but still present.

"...We...it's...but it's too soon..." Bee looked up. "We were gonna wait. What if the War acts up? Are you sure we can't do anything else?" Primarily, the young mech was concerned because he knew Optimus wanted to wait. He felt it was his fault they'd been pushed to this point, like he was the one who had rushed Optimus here; and he knew there would be consequences for what they did, many of which might affect them during conflict in unexpected ways. 

"Unfortunately, there's no other way," Optimus sighed. "If there would be, I'd take that, no matter the risk." He looked into the scout's optics. "I know we wanted to wait. Now, we have no choice but to deal with it. We'll have to take the responsibility for each other. It'll be a hard burden to bear... I'm sorry I have to place it upon you." He cuddled Bee closer. "It's frightening, I know... to tell the truth, I nearly sprang a leak when Ratchet declared there's no other way. I'm scared to bare my spark... because I have too much to hide." 

For a moment, Bumblebee remained trembling in his mate's arms before he snuggled closer and pressed his face into the small space between Prime's jaw and his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. He placed an affectionate little nibble there.

"It...It'll be okay," he murmured, spark quivering. "W-We'll do it, and...it'll be okay. I love you...always will..." 

"My Bumblebee... My bravest little soldier." Optimus tipped the yellow helm upwards and after some hesitation - he was nervous, so nervous like never before...! - he kissed his soon-to-be-sparkmate. He kept the contact light and slightly teasing; if they absolutely had to do it, at least he wanted to go on properly. 

The kiss was made a little more urging when Bumblebee pressed into it, but mostly because the yellow mech was trying his best to apologize somehow when he had nothing to be sorry for. He wound his arms around Optimus' neck, revving his engine slowly as his cold systems began to gradually warm up again. 

Prime's large, warm hands roamed all over the yellow frame, helping it to recover the normal temperature. It was a slow, light caress though; something they only did before the barnacles... it seemed way too long. The powerful engine behind the grill rumbled steadily, building heat as well. The barnacles were awakening slowly.

"S-slowly, Bee, we don't need to rush..." Optimus protested, rubbing soothing circles on the yellow black plating. "It's our sparkbond... I don't want to rush it or fail..."

Bumblebee whimpered painfully. "I-I'm sorry...I'll try...I just..." his vents huffed a little and he arched, humming pleasantly into the circles on his plating. " _They're_ making me do this...I feel like I'll drop offline at any moment..."

Prime's engine revved up and his hold tightened - No, he won't allow his love to get hurt any more. He could feel his own infection coming to life, too, poking him to feed them, spoil them with delicious energy... Optimus gritted his dental plating. The most important moment in all his life... ruined by some _critters_ , attaching themselves to him. Damned parasites!

He turned on the berth with the scout in his arms , looking into the feverish optics. "Well then... If they make us rush, then let us go about it as we can. You remember how many nights we have bonded, when all of our insides felt like melting...?"

Bumblebee clicked a few times and a wistful smile crossed his face. "Yeah," he hummed, moaning a little at the thought, his spark starving for attention as he kissed Prime's faceplates and nuzzled him affectionately.

"Let us do it again..." the young leader whispered. "With all we have, let us burn and melt until we offline from pleasure... And if we really offline... then we'll be still together."

The little yellow mech shuddered once, mewling low in his vocals, and captured Prime's lips in a passionate kiss as his answer. He traced trembling fingers over one audio, lightly, revving his engine again, spurring Optimus onward.

Everything blurred into a delirious haze from this point; touches, caresses, the flurry of kisses. Not one inch of plating was left untouched and the warnings didn't even register anymore. Engines revved, vents growled louder and louder until they started to sputter from overworking, spitting steam; coolant gathered on their armor into fat beads, eventually rolling down on their frames. 

Optimus didn't restrain himself, moaning shamelessly, uttering endearments on static-ridden voice. The heat got the better of him, he no longer minded this, neither did he care about failing, he just wanted one thing - his beloved mate's spark.

Bumblebee was a quivering mass of need under Prime's larger frame. He was swallowed up in everything that was Optimus--every touch burned, every caress left him aching like a mech in repair from the War. Every kiss quenched his thirst and every motion, every sound reached deep enough to touch his spark and make him shiver and tremble, lick, kiss and stroke and scrape at painted plating. Bee's optics flickered erratically as his moans increased and melted into whimpers, coolant rolling off of his frame in beaded rivers. His spark squealed against its casing and Bumblebee pushed at Optimus until they were turned over and he was lying sprawled out along his lover's body.

" _Optimus_ ," he moaned, arching against the larger mech's chest, leech-like energy pouring in potent waves off his tiny frame. " _Please_. Make it _stop_." He kissed an audio, blessed Optimus with a nuzzle and a scrape of fingers over his grill. "Make us one. Like in Ratchet's stories," he rasped. "Finish it, please!"

The young leader gasped, and nodded - at this point, there was no return, the bridges were burned to ashes. His trembling blue hands took hold on Bee's shoulders, keeping the scout away just a little bit, then he clicked his chestplate open, letting it retract and reveal his very core. 

The spark's sacred radiance flooded the room, illuminating both of them. Everything that was Optimus, the young hero who grew to be a true leader here on this foreign planet, forged in true battle's fire, with all his mistakes and achievements was laid out before the little yellow bot. And it was offered without doubt, free for the taking. 

Bumblebee had to offline his optics for a moment before dimming them to accommodate for the sudden blinding light. He still trembled like a leaf in the wind, exposed to Optimus' spark. He found himself gasping and beginning to relax--the energy falling off of that little point of light being enough to weaken the scream of the infectious creatures inside him so that he could stop to admire.

Struck in awe, Bumblebee reached in carefully, tracing one yellow finger just outside of the spark casing, watching as a trail of blue lightning followed the path he made. He pressed his lips tight, his chestplates clicking as the locks opened. He slowly exposed his own spark. The light flooded over Optimus' frame, his spark quivering madly, driven to jagged edges and wild movements by the barnacles.

"I love you, Optimus," mewled the little mech, nuzzling Prime's neck and lying carefully down to properly align their sparks.

The young leader arched into the touches, and once his beloved's core was bared, he found himself equally humbled by the sight. He welcomed the scout with open arms, holding him tightly once their chestplates touched; and he couldn't hold back a cry at the contact. The sparks immediately reached out for each other, with all the love's eagerness they held. Their tendrils slithered out and entwined, lightly first, just teasing each other mischievously. They sang; the rhythm of their songs already synching up, though not perfectly yet; but the right moment was drawing near.

"I love you too, Bumblebee," Optimus whispered on a broken voice. The frame beneath his hands was burning his fingertips. 

Bee stiffened as their sparks began to join, letting out a small cry and pressing his fingers into Prime's plating. The tendrils thickened, wove themselves together in tight little ropes, their sparks gravitating towards each other like Fate personified. Rhythm echoed between their bodies and heat built gradually, the light growing brighter and brighter as their sparks danced and flirted before coming together in a tight embrace.

And it just... happened. In the next moment, there was a perfect rhythm; the two cores pulsed as one, and Optimus's body arched off the berth from the overwhelming pleasure. His optics glowed so bright they seemed to be white, but before his consciousness changed, he grabbed Bee's hands and laced their fingers together.

And then- There was nothing. And yet, there was everything, love and life, the past and the present, and to a degree, even the future; two beings merging into one willingly, giving up everything for each other. It was a mutual sacrifice, both of them offering themselves for the other, the most sacred suicide - and therefore, nothing was lost. Primus had blessed such unions at the dawn of time; those who gave the other their very souls were to live on, with this divine bond between them. 

Optimus became Bumblebee, in a sense; he felt like he felt, thought like he thought and understood. Bee's motivations, memories, joys and fears were revealed to him and the young leader was finally able to comprehend his scout's personality completely.

And, in a like sense, Bumblebee became Optimus--everything his leader, his mate, had ever felt and thought pieced together, and Bee understood. The most intriguing parts, of course, were when he was allowed a glimpse into Prime's past--and as the memories flitted through him like flashes of butterfly wings, each moment in turn helped Bee to realize what Optimus had meant. He _had_ made mistakes--no, he was _not_ a perfect mech--but even after everything became clear and the smokescreen lifted between their selves, Bumblebee curled against Prime's frame as if to calm; his faith and devotion, if anything, made _stronger_ by those shared past times.

Then, as opposed to the rapid joining, the cores slowly released each other. They still lovingly caressed and soothed with their light-tendrils, but returned to their respective places, separating the two individuals. Not completely though; a hairline chord still was tight between them, even after the chestplates closed. Unseen but clearly there, the sparks still hummed to each other as they settled back into their own rhythm.

Bumblebee was still mewling a little bit as the quiet settled in; he kept himself against Optimus' frame, his own still hot and seething. For several breems he lay there with his bondmate, basking in the sweet glowing warmth and smiling in his happiness. Happy that they were together; happy that he could feel Optimus pulsing inside him, with him but not with him, always.

And then Bee ran a self-scan and realized with a small lift of his head, "H-Hey...I'm not hungry anymore..." Bumblebee's optics flickered and he looked down at Prime. "What about you? You think it worked? Are we clean?"

"We must be," the young leader nodded, cupping his scout's face with one hand. "This was wonderful, my star."

Bumblebee smiled wide, laughing lightly and turning his head to nestle against the open palm before taking Prime's hand and kissing it, laying down again on his frame. "I wanna stay here a little longer," he said, "We can report to ol' Doc-bot later, can't we?"

"Suppose we can," Optimus shifted lazily, enjoying the warm little frame pressing against his very much. ' _And we also need to work on your attitude problem_ ' he thought, but he was wiser than to voice this. Now that he knew what was driving Bee, he was given a chance to handle it better. 

Bee hummed and nuzzled Optimus' neck, spark fluttering healthily in its casing as it recovered. The searing pain of the barnacles' hunger didn't plague him anymore, and for that Bumblebee already felt ten times better than before. "Y'know, if I hadn't had 'em so long, I'd almost say I was glad I was infected," he drawled. "'Cause they made us come together, in a way. I think I always knew...always thought the War would probably start up again; and I'd die waiting for you until it was over."

"And probably the bond will make us harder, fight more fiercely, to survive and continue being one," the young leader nodded. "No, I have absolutely no regrets, and I'll never will. I feel complete... as if I had found a missing piece of me I've never even knew I missed."

Bumblebee nodded slowly, and left it at that. He knew he felt the same; he would try harder from now on, would do his best as a soldier and as a lover. This was a good place to start. The future looked good from here, staring into the optics of his bondmate, lying with him on the berth and soaking in his warmth. The future looked _very_ good.


	41. Losses and Races

The Elite had left. With Starscream, nonetheless, and the Commander's best wishes; it was spark-warming to see that smile he graced Optimus with. The team had been cleared, after all, and the Cons made their presence quite apparent. Definitely not good news, but they were all hoping they'd be able to stand against the threat the Decepticons presented.

Prowl disappeared the night before the departure, and on the morning of, he only exchanged formal farewells with Jazz; but even a bot without optics could see how they looked at each other. Bulkhead knew how the ninjabot could have felt, and decided to keep him company for a while as he sat on the roof, gazing at the stars.

Prowl was glad for Bulkhead's company. It was more desirable than Bumblebee's—he adored the yellow mech, except for the fact that he tended to be loud, annoying and fidgety. "Peace" and "stillness" were not words normally attributed to Bumblebee.

The ninjabot rubbed lightly at his chassis, sitting next to Bulkhead on the roof. He could still feel a very faint tug on the bond in his spark, a light sensation of warmth and love. Even though they were probably light-years apart by now, Jazz seemed closer than ever. Prowl smiled. "It's...not all that bad. Them leaving, I mean."

"At least we don't have to deal with Sentinel," Bulkhead agreed. "And the Commander is really needed on Cybertron right now. I just hope things will work out." He glanced down at the dark frame of the other, scratching Prowl off his mental list of "Bots I could maybe hook up with". The spark-bonding business did nice things to mechs. Prowl was even more calm and patient these days, Bee quieted a little bit and Optimus was just happy, working with even more enthusiasm than ever before.

The green giant leaned a bit closer. "How does it feel?" he asked quietly, curiously.

"Hm... You mean bonding?" Prowl looked up at Bulkhead, surprised by the question, but not unwilling to indulge him. His smile widened a bit. "I'm afraid I can't describe it very accurately, my young friend. Words can't do it much justice." But his vents whirred in a sigh, and he tried anyway, looking up at the stars. "It was...overwhelming, in a way. Everything about you and about your partner...you both share all of it in a single moment. When you bond, there are no walls between you anymore. You can feel what they feel. You're more in tune with each other."

Bulkhead nodded. Ratchet told him the same, and he could sort of see it in Bee and Optimus. "Yeah, I know. You're a lucky mech to have Jazz." He smiled, gently nudging the ninja's shoulder. "But what do you feel now that he had to go back?"

"...I was worried at first, about being separated from him," Prowl admitted, optic ridge furrowing under his chevron. "But now I'm not so afraid. It feels like he's still... _here_ , in a way. I can sometimes even feel his emotions a bit, so I don't really miss him."

That sounded so wonderful. Bulkhead sighed, glancing up at the stars. "Still, I hope you'll meet soon." He began to get up. "Uh, I'll go check on Ratchet. You know he's still a bit depressed by that incident..."

Because, that Ratchet...a medic is a medic, no matter how grumpy, and a life was lost not too long ago. Of course, he took it hard.

"Ah, the Wreck-Gar 'bot...?" Prowl guessed. "He has been upset lately. I hope he finds peace soon."

The green giant nodded. He really wanted to see Ratchet being back to his old self. The garbage business really brought the worst out of him. "I'll try to talk him out of it. No promises, though. Goodnight, Prowl."

Prowl waved, bidding Bulkhead a goodnight as well before the green mech went off to find Ratchet, who was no doubt in the med bay as he usually was.

The difference was that Ratchet seemed, oddly enough, locked up in that place more than usual, like with the barnacles. Which said something, as most of Ratchet's time was devoted to the med bay. He could be seen tinkering with some equipment with a solemn scowl on his face, lost in thought as he poked and prodded around. Lately he'd been grouchier than normal, snapping at every little thing and then quickly apologizing, mumbling low and going back to his work. It had everyone on edge around him, because he himself was so frazzled.

Bulkhead cautiously stayed just outside the door when he came into the med bay, strategically placing his hulking frame that it would be out of any thrown object's way. "Evening, Ratchet. Feeling any better...?"

Ratchet could do little else but give a long huff of his vents, shaking his head. "To be honest—no, kid, not really."

"Aww, come on." Bulkhead shuffled inside, over to the medic. Now free from the barnacles and the little voices telling him that Ratchet could use a good overload, too, he still felt sort of drawn by the elderly medic; after all, they both built and fixed things. And they weren't bad at it, either.

The young wrecker gently touched the red-white shoulders. "You can't lurk down here all in your free minutes," he said quietly. "You barely talk to us, and when you do, you're testy. You know it wasn't your fault...you prevented a catastrophe."

"I didn't," Ratchet said. "Wreck-Gar did. He sacrificed himself to stop that whole mess." He put his face in his hands, hissing. "If I'd done a better job, he could have stayed online!"

"Ratchet..." Bulkhead felt powerless. He, the physically strongest member of the group had to face something raw strength couldn't make right: a friend in misery. He curled his huge fingers around the lighter-colored frame. It was hard to argue with cruel reality. "Ratchet...Ratchet, don't do this. You're giving yourself a system crash. Please..." His spark was twisting in its casing.

The medic bot pressed his lips in a thin, grim line. He fell completely silent, his systems whirring unusually slow for a moment. He seemed to be rebooting himself. When air was pulled in through his vents again, he tried on a bitter sort of smile for the hulking mech beside him.

"I'm sorry, Bulkhead. I know I've been worryin' you and the others lately. I'll be fine; really...I just need a little more time."

The green giant sighed and briefly nuzzled the other's helm with an affectionate gesture. "When you want to, you know you can talk to any of us," he said quietly then with a last squeeze, he stepped back. "I'll check on Bee now. He's been behaving too well lately. Goodnight...and don't overwork yourself, okay?"

Ratchet gave a sound nod, and went back to his work. It seemed he and Bulkhead had been spending a lot more time together lately. Not that he really minded...Bulkhead comforted him sometimes, and the company was nice. The mech had his spark in the right place.

+0+0+

With said spark feeling a little heavy, Bulkhead targeted the living room. He could hear that the TV was on, and he was not surprised to see the yellow scout and Sari practically bouncing on the sofa, watching something, which looked like...

"A car race, huh?" Bulkhead observed the nice-looking Earth vehicles zipping along the streets with quite some speed—it seemed the owners modified them somewhat to bring out the maximum from the engine. The streamlined cars showed off quite some stunts, it was indeed a good show, but... "Are they supposed to go this fast in the city...?"

Sari, too busy shouting at the TV for the moment, didn't respond; but Bumblebee gave a brief input. "Who cares? Do you see how fast they go?!" he cried. "Though I bet I could beat all of 'em easy..."

"But isn't this illegal...?" Bulkhead was a law-respecting young mech, partly because he so admired Prowl. "Besides, which channel is it on?" He couldn't remember the logo. "Bee, if you're getting yourselves into trouble..." So much about the scout being well-behaved...

The race _did_ look like some good entertainment, though.

Sari waved a dismissive hand. "The channel's a secret line," she said cryptically.

"Sari found it and turned me on to it," Bee continued. "The races are always really intense, it's fun!"

The young wrecker was about to say something, but at that moment, a sleek blue vehicle _floated_ into view. It was even better looking than the other cars, and... It had an amazing speed. From the last place, it took the lead in a minute and sped off.

Bulkhead sunk on his knees behind the couch and watched the race from there, jaw dropping.

"Yeah! The Blue Racer!" Bee exclaimed, glancing at Bulkhead. "He's the fastest racer on the track. He's amazing!"

"Bee still thinks he can beat 'im," Sari teased. Bee pouted at her.

"It's not impossible! I mean, he's fast, yeah, but if I had the turbo boosters again..."

 _Oh Primus, not again,_ Bulkhead thought.

+0+0+

Bee could hear the engines' noise. The race was drawing closer. He had the boosters in place, and he was determined to match himself to that blue racer. There was no doubt he'd show up.

The sounds drew closer rapidly, and the scout could see the headlights. The perfect moment was drawing near fast.

Bumblebee would be grinning if he were in his robot mode. Every circuit in his body was flushed with excitement. He couldn't wait to kick that blue racer's tailpipe. Admittedly, he admired the chassis and the paintjob—it was pretty exotic-looking for an Earth car. But that would make his victory that much sweeter.

He easily joined the flock, trying to get used to his enhanced speed. It had been some time they last let him use the turbo boosters (well, technically, they never _allowed_ him, but that was beside the point now). He followed the racers and quickly took the lead, enjoying the intoxicating feel of speed.

The wind over his frame and the heat rushing through his systems was exhilarating. Bumblebee could see the blue racer catching up to him—he chuckled to himself, and put as much power into his turbo boosters as possible. He flared excitement and his systems were as pumped as they'd ever been. _Okay, Blue Racer, let's see what you got!_

The other cars stopped, stirring up quite some dust, and Bee spun around, tying to see through it. When the cloud cleared, the blue racer was facing him, revving the engine menacingly. Bee grinned inwardly, even as the car targeted him.

"So, he wants a little showdown, does he?"

Of course, perhaps he wouldn't have been as confident had he noticed the oil puddle he was standing in.

Bee revved his engine challengingly in return, and then the blue racer immediately rushed forward. Bumblebee rushed to go, too; but then he realized he wasn't moving. Half of his systems halted. "Wh-What?!"

He became all too aware, then, of that pesky oil puddle, and started to panic. Slaggit! "I can't move...!" He was going to collide with that racer if he didn't find a way out! _Think, Bee, think!_

Time seemed to slow for a few agonizing moments, then the boosters twirled around almost by themselves and Bee raced out...backwards. Still, as opposed to the other option—frontally colliding with another—it was a solution as good as any.

They played tag for a while, the blue racer mercilessly following him, seemingly bent on running the cheeky little yellow scout over. "Hey! Back off, will ya?!" Bee yelled at him. Maneuvering was a bit tricky when he was facing the wrong direction.

Eventually, the blue car pulled up next to him...and Bee heard it. A small sound, barely audible over the roar of the engines and the booster, but it suspiciously sounded like...laughter. Flirtatious, _amused_ laughter, on top of that. Then the sleek vehicle bumped against him.

What occurred in the moment that they bumped, although violent, felt very much like something Bee was used to: a mingling of energy fields. It startled him a little bit, because that gave the vicious racing collision a bittersweet edge on the contact that had Bumblebee reeling and wondering if the racer would do that again. It was oddly intoxicating; probably from the combination of excitement from the race, and the heat in his systems from being all revved up.

There was a word the humans had for this. Teasing? Maybe, but not quite... _flirting_?

Be wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but the racer seemed to be quite attached to the idea; elegantly, he kept bumping into the mini-car, and there was no mistake: he had energy fields, and they flared up with every touch. He was also careful to not bump Bee off the road—despite that the blue car was bigger and heavier built, obviously being able to drive him into the ditch, the scout had no problems keeping in line. The energy fields hummed up against him again, and he could have sworn the blue car shuddered from delight.

The reactions and the behavior confused Bumblebee—the energy fields were puzzling enough, as he'd naturally assumed the blue car had a _human_ driver. Human cars—non-Cybertronian cars—didn't have energy fields, at least not like the ones the Autobots and Decepticons had. Was it possible for this car to be Cybertronian? And how careful he was not to push Bee off the road, the way the energy flared at each bump-that confirmed the reasoning behind them, but it posed more questions than it did answers.

After this game of touch-and-chase continued for a little while, Bumblebee decided the only way he was going to provoke any real answers was to answer the car's flirtatious behavior in his own way-and now that he had better control over the direction he was going, that would not be a problem. Besides that, he was a taken mech.

However, the control, though newly founded, was nothing compared to the ease of movement in his robot mode, and frankly, driving backwards at high speeds was not something even the daring little Bumblebee was willing to do for long. "Fine, then; you wanna play?" He screeched to a halt. Pieces shifted, parts moved, split and welded together again. The tiny yellow car disappeared and was replaced by a tiny yellow bot, aiming his fist at the oncoming blue car. "See how you like this!"

The Blue racer appeared to be unfazed by the threat. He didn't hit the break, his speed didn't cease—he was still targeting Bee. Apparently, he wasn't really afraid of a robot—granted, small among his own but still quite big and threatening for a human.

But Bumblebee didn't take too great a note of this. He was the slightest bit irritated, and although the bumps had been ironically nice, there had been many of them, and they added up. His armor stung a little bit.

The only thing that stopped him from making solid contact with the car's hood was the fact that he stopped just short of the dent where Bee made cracks in the asphalt with his fist. And only about after that did Bee even think to consider how that happened. Most cars would have skidded straight into him, but this one stopped on a dime.

"Oi!" An irritated voice snapped at him. "Don't move a muscle...or a piston, or whatever you Autobot things move."

Bumblebee looked up at the gruff, accented voice, following it to the owner, narrowing his eyes when he found him. Even despite his sudden suspicious and upset mood, he couldn't escape a brief gasp of his vents. "You're Master Disaster from the TV!"

While the conversation continued, the blue racer quietly pulled back and disappeared from the scene. Bee flicked his optics over and watched him go; he wasn't quite sure what the deal was with that car. It was possible it was all a ruse, but...no...energy signals like that couldn't be faked.

In the end, Bee tallied this as something to keep from his bonded. A bad habit that he swore to himself he would quit soon, but he couldn't let Prime rat out the blue car and make him quit his races. He also had a feeling that something else might go wrong if he exposed the guy.

So that goal was pushed to the sidelines just one more time.


	42. Mutual 01

He was finally beginning to feel a little better. Ratchet was back to work, and had quieted for a couple of days—he slowly came out of his shell, returning more and more to the Ratchet usually was.

But as usual, his place was the med bay, although his doors were now left open, indicating that company was a little more welcome than before when he'd been under the weather. 

However, depression seemed to cling to them like the barnacles—it hopped from one bot to another. Ratchet could see that when Bulkhead shuffled through the door, covered in dust and his left shoulder joint sizzling. 

"Uhh... hi, Ratchet. I fragged myself up; can you take a look at it...?" The young wrecker's optics were dull; though not just from the physical pain. In the last few days, he had been working harder than ever; very effectively, in fact; but he always looked as if he was just about to collapse. 

Ratchet frowned a little bit at the young mech's state. "Again?" he wondered. He knew the reason for Bulkhead's overwork—and now he knew the worry everyone else felt when he was getting over Wreck-Gar.

The medic sighed, waving Bulkhead over. "Well, let's take a look at it." 

The green giant practically crumpled on the floor, and slumped forward, waiting for the medic to take a look. Something in his chassis felt so heavy, it dragged him down. He wanted to lie down on the floor and do nothing but his processors told him that was stupid, laziness was not one of his traits, and work eased the pain a little, because it distracted his thoughts. 

"I'm sorry." 

"For what...? Working yourself to death?" Ratchet sighed, tenderly brushing some of the dust and rubble off Bulkhead's armor while he examined the fizzling joint in his left shoulder. "You know," he said, scanning the injury and setting Bulkhead in order, "You once told me that if something was troubling me, I could talk to any of you." 

"Yeah, but you can't do anything about it. They just left and betrayed us, and I got my hopes up, and it hurts again, and I feel like I won't ever find what I'm looking for, and I'm just—!" Bulkhead covered his face. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't want to say that...but my spark...it feels like splitting into two. But...no matter how awesome a medic you are, you can't fix that, Ratchet. I know, and I'm trying, but I felt so close to something—!" 

"Hush." Ratchet waved Bulkhead off, numbing the area in and around the injury so he could work on it without causing a lot of pain. Silence followed, and then:

"...I can't say I was...particularly fond of them," he admitted. "But you liked them. I think I can see why. They made you feel at ease with yourself...didn't they?" 

"They were builders; they enjoyed building things like me." Bulkhead nodded slightly. "They understood me. Yeah, they were a little rough, but...I think I'd have been like that, too, if I weren’t on Prime’s team."

"It's always difficult to lose someone you consider a... What's the term the humans use? ...A kindred spirit." Ratchet continued to tool around Bulkhead's injury, gradually working his way through to sealing the tear. There was a contemplative sort of expression in his optics. "But don't beat yourself up over them, Bulkhead. If they were still on our side, being your friends...I don't think they would want to see you working yourself this hard." 

"I wouldn't have to if they were," the green giant grumbled. "Now I've lost Bee, I've lost Prowl, and I've lost two mechs I hoped to be friends with." His optics became a bit dazed. "Scrapper had kind of a fine chassis..." 

Ratchet frowned, looking up at Bulkhead and stopping his work. "Wait a minute—you're upset because you're still trying to find someone to bond with?" 

"It's not just about bonding, Ratchet!" Bulkhead argued. "They were fun to be with, and they were like me. I admit it would be nice to be more than just friends... But I know how important my spark is, and I won't give it up easily! Do you think I'm that stupid? Do you?" There was no anger in the blue optics, just endless sadness. Bulkhead was used to be called clumsy and stupid, and he'd have been the first to admit that he was indeed not the most capable mech...but he had some common sense. 

"No, that's not it," Ratchet sighed, shaking his head. "It's just that, the way you ask around and keep talking about it...I understand there are other factors involved. But...you seem like you're always in such a rush. I'm worried about you; that's all." The medic was well aware that Bulkhead was no fool about his spark, but it concerned him that the larger mech always seemed to be on the lookout for a potential friend or mate.

"For bonding, I'd have to find a mech first, grow to like him, trust him, no? And interfacing comes first." Bulkhead looked at his hands. "Sometimes I wish that Bee had have never shown me how it goes. Now that he's bonded with Optimus...I don't want to ask him to do it to me. And Prowl's bonded to Jazz, so—" He paused. After blinking a few times, he glanced at the medic. His faceplates were heating up profusely. "Ratchet...is it s-supposed to feel...less good when you’re alone?" 

Ratchet shook his head. "It's not worse when you're alone, it's just...better with a partner," he said. The seams tightening in his faceplates showed how much sympathy he held for the other right now, and how much it hurt to see Bulkhead this upset.

The injury was patched, and Ratchet patted a hand softly onto Bulkhead's arm. "Don't search so hard," he said. "You're young and you're eager. But it may be a while before you find the right one. Until then, be patient—and don't work so hard. I don't like seeing you in here so often when it entails patch-ups." 

The young wrecker nodded, and curled his thick arms around the medic. "I know. Thanks for your patience, Ratchet. You're always so nice to me. But...you know that we can't always tell our sparks how to feel. Sometimes, I just...I feel so cold and left out. Then the Constructicons came, and I thought maybe we could be friends; that I wouldn’t be alone anymore." He clicked once and shook his head, sighing. "I'll just get over it...like I always do." 

Ratchet pressed his lips thin. His venting systems whirred a long sigh, and he rested against Bulkhead's frame, patting his arm companionably. Bulkhead always was the one left out, it seemed. He was always picked out as the Black Sheep of the Autobots, not really expressing any sort of specialty or attractive grace—his construction skills were impressive, but then, the rest of them had been required to learn that field well for where they’d been stationed.

"...You can rest up in the med bay tonight, if you want," he offered. He felt bad letting Bulkhead go out to wallow all by himself, and he wanted to give at least a little bit of company to the other, so that the giant construction mech wouldn't be quite so lonesome. 

"Really...?" Bulkhead looked at the medic like a sparkling after somebody offered him energon candy. "Thank you! I-I'll be quiet and won't disturb you, promise!" He liked the elderly mech so much. Maybe not so much like Sari loved his father, but Bulkhead thought it was pretty close already. 

Ratchet nodded, smiling wide, glad to see Bulkhead cheering up. "Yep...oh, and don't worry about noise—I can sleep through anything," he chuckled. 

"Okay." The green giant smiled and moved his shoulder. "I'll go back then and finish some work. Won't overstrain myself this time, promise! And I'll wash. I don't wanna get your med bay dirty...well, more dirty." 

The medic chuckled and dusted Bulkhead off a little. "A wash-down would be good for you," he admitted. "Alright, you go do that. I won't be going anywhere." 

The young wrecker nodded and left. His spark felt lighter and his chest warmer; Ratchet was a really, really nice Bot if he put a little effort into it. 

+0+0+

Bulkhead wandered the halls for a little while after that; he cleaned up, as he'd promised he would, and spent a little more time to himself, deep in thought. Ratchet always made a successful effort to make him feel better—it was why Bulkhead visited him so often. The medic was gruff, grouchy and could throw a wrench clear down the longest hall of the base, but he gave good counseling, if one could believe it or not.

There was another mech who also tended to cheer Bulkhead up—though less for his talk and more for his chipper and occasionally troublesome attitude. That mech was Bumblebee, who approached him as he walked up and down the base.

"Hey, big guy!" cried Bumblebee, sliding up next to the larger mech with a grin. "What's with the long face?" 

"What long face?" Bulkhead perked up immediately, blinking innocently at his friend. "It's nothing...I just pulled a shoulder but Ratchet fixed me up. And I'm a little out of inspiration maybe, for my paintings."

He grinned a bit. "What's with all the bouncing?" 

Bumblebee paused for a moment, and then there was a nervous laugh. "Could you keep a secret?" he asked innocently. 

Bulkhead made a face. "Of course I can. You're my friend, Bee." 

"Well...remember that Blue Racer?" asked the yellow mech. "Um...well, I sort of raced him a couple of more times, and he, uh..." 

"I recall the races, Bee," Bulkhead reminded the scout. "I was actually there until Blitzwing froze me up. But there's something more, right?" He was a bit worried. What could have happened? Maybe the racer injured him? Surely not...! 

"Well, it was weird—I thought a human was driving that car, but," here Bee lowered his vocals, "He...had an energy signature, Bulkhead; a signature like you or me or one of the Decepticons." 

Bulkhead's optics opened wide. "Are you serious? Have you told this to Optimus? He has to know!" 

Bumblebee winced. "...I don't want to. I have this feeling he doesn't want to be found out," he said.

He saw the look appearing on Bulkhead's face and waved his arms frantically in his own defense. "Don't be mad at me! You don't understand! It's just an instinct, okay? I know he's not a Decepticon, but I don't think he's with us, either...it's just a feeling I have." 

"I _still_ think you should tell Boss-bot!" Bulkhead insisted. "He's our leader! And besides, you're bonded, too, aren't you?" 

"I know, I know," way to rub it in; Bumblebee wilted, flinching more and more. He clasped his hands together, pleading. "Please, please, just keep it quiet one more time, Bulkhead?" 

"Bumblebee..." When the young wrecker used his friend's full name, especially with such a tone, it meant he was angry. "What happened? I know you're hiding something. Just the fact that the racer could be another Transformer wouldn't rile you up; in fact, you'd walk up to Boss-bot and boast about the new find." 

Bumblebee hesitated. He frowned deeply, biting his lip, started shifting from foot to foot.

"...He bumped me a lot of times," he admitted. "And he crossed our energy fields each time...it was okay, I guess, but he never did anything more. He seemed like he was enjoying it." 

Bulkhead's optics widened. "He was...flirting with you?" 

The yellow mech nodded. "Yeah...and he actually went out of his way to find me on the road to do it again. Came at me twice, both times at night, when I was alone." Bee frowned. "I haven't told Optimus yet, because even I dunno what to do about it. I mean, he's never tried to...do _more_ , so..." 

"You should be _happy_ he didn't try anything more!" The young wrecker scowled. 

"I am!" cried Bee, pouting. "Are you kidding? After what Optimus and I had to go through to bond, you think I would give it up for some blue car and let him have his way?" 

"I didn't say that..." A huge green arm pulled Bee closer. "You know that. But if he had tried to hurt you...Optimus wouldn't be the only one seriously upset you know." 

Bumblebee shook his head. "He wasn't...trying to hurt me," he said, looking thoughtful. "I think he just really liked the feeling of our mixed fields. I think he just kept coming back because he's curious. Like he's addicted, you know?" 

"Addicted...?" Bulkhead raised an optic ridge. "Wow." Then he clicked. "I-I-I hope the barnacles really didn't spread any other way...!" 

The yellow mech laughed a bit. "I don't think he has barnacles. I think he just likes the taste of my energy field." Bee's tone perked up a little as he said it; inevitably, the encounters were a heavy-petting boost on his ego. 

The green giant rolled his optics. Somebody was sure of himself, wasn't he? 

"Aww, come on, you know how I am," Bee said with a pout. "Anyway...I see you're feeling better," he said, tone getting more serious. 

"Yeah, I talked to Ratchet, too; he' good at counseling." Bulkhead smiled. "And he’s letting me sleep in the med bay tonight, so I won't be alone." 

"That's nice of him," Bee said with a smile. He hung onto one of Bulkhead's arms, resting against it. "Listen, um...I know I'm a pain sometimes, but don't be a stranger, okay? I like talking to you, and I wanna make sure you're alright." 

"Okay," Bulkhead nodded. "I'll tell you if something's amiss; promise." It was wonderful to know that no matter what happened, their friendship remained the same.


	43. Mutual 02

As the night fell and recharge time drew closer, Bulkhead dragged his 'blanket' down to the med bay. He’d scrubbed his plating clean with Sari's help; he even smelled faintly of the shampoo the little human sloshed over him with great enthusiasm. Prowl decided to stay up, and was watching the Discovery Channel, while Bee was probably cuddling with Optimus. And the young wrecker...was going to sleep with his old friend. He did that many times with Bee, but this...this was oddly different. Not that they were going to do anything aside sleeping, but still, Bulkhead could feel his spark flutter a tiny bit as he shuffled into the med bay. 

Ratchet was reading through a few old data pads before he planned to go to recharge; Bulkhead came in when he was at a particularly good note, and he glanced up, adjusting his old optics to focus on the larger mech. He managed a little smile, glad to see Bulkhead was cleaned up and apparently feeling better.

"You can have my berth if you want," he said, gesturing to a mound of mattresses and solid metal strips, the way most of them fashioned their sleeping areas where they recharged. (That is, with old equipment that happened to be lying around—the structure varied from bot to bot.) "It's more comfortable than the medical table." 

"Oh, no, never mind me," Bulkhead shook his head. "I'm fine with the floor, too, and that's the largest anyway. It's not like this is the first time I'm not recharging on a berth." He draped the faded yellow tarp to the floor and settled down on it. "It won't be nice to take your berth. And I could wreck it too; I'm much larger than you." 

After some thought, Ratchet guessed that was true. His manners didn't let him settle completely with the idea, but Bulkhead seemed bound and determined to have it that way. So the old medic just gave a low grunt. "If that's what you want," he said, returning to his data pads. "If ya ever need something, just wake me up...at the warning that I'm not going to be rainbows and sunshine when you disturb my recharge." 

"Yes, Ratchet," Bulkhead replied obediently with a small smile. The medic's presence calmed him; it felt secure to be around him. The green giant just felt warm and...happy. The scout was like a small sun and Bulkhead loved his radiance. Being with Prowl was also a calming experience, but differently; the ninja oozed tranquility and balance. He filled Bulkhead with eagerness to be better and do better, and Prowl's cool gaze helped him to focus, too. Ratchet was somehow a mixture of the two feelings. The young wrecker couldn't fully understand it, but it was nice nonetheless. 

Ratchet stayed up for quite a while reading those data pads; occasionally, a wistful sort of smile appeared on his face, like he was being given a glimpse into some wonderful past. Bulkhead was already asleep by the time he shut them down and went to his berth, climbing up and slipping into an easy recharge. Like Bulkhead, Ratchet appreciated the other's company. Ratchet had a soft spot for all of the younger mechs, but Bulkhead was just such a sweet and innocent thing: a big spark hiding under a lot of big armor.

It reminded him of a certain younger red mech that he knew from Cybertron... 

Outside, the moon crawled on the sky toward the west, light breaking through the window and falling on Bulkhead's hulking frame. The young bot was dreaming; his brain module throwing data together as the CPU sorted the day's experiences, forging false sensory input. He was back at the space bridges, around some barracks where he had stayed before with Bee and older workers. He ran into none other than Megatron; however, the powerful Decepticon leader was smaller, probably a bit younger even, and looked a lot nicer. They talked, shared some knowledge about bridges, then...eventually, Megatron kissed Bulkhead. And he was very good at it. Somehow, they got into some room and his dark hands were skilled and busy, and Bulkhead was heating up and then—

He woke with a startled click, and as soon as he realized that he was dreaming and just _what_ he had been dreaming...the green giant pressed his hand against his face. Dear Primus. What a stupid dream!

However, the fleeting images managed to work his systems up nicely; his vents were humming and his core temperature was higher than usual. Bulkhead knew this feeling, and he didn't quite like it, but it was a persistent one, and it wouldn’t go away until he did something about it. The young wrecker glanced at Ratchet and slowly, hesitantly, he reached out to trace a fingertip against his own neck. His optics fluttered shut from the sensation. 

Ratchet stirred lightly in his recharge, old joints creaking and groaning once in a while with every minute shift in motion. He was having a similar but wholly different dream than Bulkhead; red armor turning to silver and a big innocent smile plaguing his data.

He turned over onto his other side, humming something to himself in his sleep, ending up facing Bulkhead, but still not awake. 

The green giant stopped for a while, afraid of being caught. But as he noticed that Ratchet was still recharging, he calmed down. The medic said he'd be grumpy if he awoke...that probably meant he didn't wake easily. Bulkhead inwardly prayed to Primus that that'd be the exact case, and slipped his large finger to the back of his neck again, stroking his jaw first. The heat inside rose and his optics fluttered shut as he let his vents heave a sigh. It was like always—good, but not enough. 

The medic didn't wake as Bulkhead sighed and continued with his self-service. He stirred a few times, mumbling words to himself, few of which Bulkhead could hear consciously. A name left Ratchet's lips, but it wasn't his.

"Ir'nhide..." 

In his dream, strong arms with scratched red plating were curling around him, and his bonded nibbled on his fingers and nuzzled his palm. "Missed ya', old chassis," the mech murmured. "Ya weren't there t’ care for me...now look. I need yer help pretty bad, now don't I...?" 

Guilt ripped through Ratchet in his dreams and he wrought the young red mech close to him almost instantly. "Forgive me," he begged. "It was out of my hands. Forgive me, please..." 

"'M not complainin'..." Ironhide smiled, his usual bright, wide grin, "Nothin' t’ forgive." He kissed his old friend passionately, his hand slipping to Ratchet's waist plating. "Glad t’ have ya back, Ratch." 

"Ironhide..." Ratchet shivered at the embrace, and found himself embracing the other right back.

_Ironhide...I won't leave you._

"Won't leave—" he woke up to the sound of his own voice, muttering under his breath. Ratchet sat up slowly, startled though he was, optics fluttering blearily as they tried to focus. 

He slowly registered the noise—maybe that was what conjured up his bonded's voice? His berth never saw the moonlight, as it was located on the other side; but the cold rays fell on the floor, and Bulkhead's shivering form. He was curled up, and kept silent save the humming of his vents that he couldn't keep down, and the medic cold feel the faint energy waves he was emitting: the same how Bumblebee was 'broadcasting' back then, when he found out about bonding and changed their lives forever. 

Even in Ratchet's half-awake state, it didn't take him very long to guess what was happening. And he froze, staring at Bulkhead in an uncharacteristic bewilderment. Silence stretched between them and neither of them dared to move or speak until Ratchet broke it, his own vents thrumming warmly.

"...Well," he grumbled. "Some mess we're in." 

Bulkhead's optics flickered. When he finally noticed the medic being awake, he thought his spark would stop pulsing. Now he was heating up from the embarrassment. "I'm...sorry..." he whimpered, his voice thin and quiet. 

Ratchet sighed heavily. "Don't be sorry, Bulkhead...I don't think either of us could've predicted this..." he paused for a moment, taking a good look at the larger mech's positioning. He was large enough when he sat up that Ratchet was at the perfect height to reach out and take the place of that silver finger against Bulkhead's neck.

He remembered teaching Ironhide where and how to touch; bitter memories that were resurfacing at the worst of times, had Ratchet smiling sadly and calmly dropped from the berth, circling to Bulkhead’s front and reaching out, putting a hand against the younger's neck where his finger seemed frozen in embarrassment.

"It's easier for both of us this way," he murmured, pressing lightly on the spot with deft white fingers. 

If Bulkhead wanted to protest, it died with the touch. He whirred and his shoulders slumped as he relaxed, arms curling around the medic. "R-Ratchet," he moaned, leaning into the caress, "O-oh that is...s-so good...!" It felt different; maybe even nicer than Bee doing it. The young wrecker ran his finger down on the older mech's back plating. "Where...?" Then, something clicked. "Why...are you doing this? I th-thought you were bonded..."

Of course, his selfish side was screaming, _so what?_ If Ratchet wanted to, then it was fine by him; it just felt so _good!_

Ratchet's armor tensed a little at the touch, but he gave a slow sigh, optic ridge creasing. "I am," he admitted, rubbing Bulkhead's neck tenderly. "But it...wasn't uncommon, back in the Great War...for soldiers on tour of duty to... _comfort_ each other like this, _especially_ when they were bonded."

Pausing, realizing he was rambling, he added, "Side plating, hands, arms, wheel wells." 

The sensitive areas were immediately assaulted by huge fingers that had a feather-light touch. "Ratchet," Bulkhead whispered. "I love you so much. You're so nice to me..." His spark was fluttering with delight. He was not aching anymore; he was not cold, he was not uncomfortable. He was together with somebody he loved. It was not what he felt for Bee—that churning, twisting, pulling thing, that whining need to be with him, hear his voice, feel his frame. This was...slower, a little less intense, but very warm. 

"Were you dreaming of him?" He asked quietly. 

Ratchet nearly melted right there, pressing his lips tightly together and humming a low moan at the sudden wave of attentions. His optics rolled and he pressed a little more on Bulkhead's neck, thumbs brushing over the sensitive joint in his jaw. "Y-Yes," he admitted, resting against Bulkhead's chassis. "You remind me of him..." 

The green giant, despite the haze that began to settle on his processors, clicked in surprise. "I do? But—how?" he nuzzled the medic's chestplate and smiled as he felt the rhythmical thrumming, as the systems pulsed in time with the spark. Ratchet's plating was warm, and Bulkhead had to remind himself not to curl around him. 

"Well, your size," Ratchet laughed lightly, a moan slipping between his sentences. "Though he still wasn't quite so large...but he had a big spark, like you. Mean sometimes, if he wanted to be—but—" Ratchet shuddered at a particularly nice stroke to a free palm and his wrist, "Never mean to those he liked." 

"Mmm," Bulkhead took Ratchet's hand and swept the tip of his glossa over it. "He's a lucky mech to have you. You're so nice to those you like. So kind, considerate, soft-spoken..." He didn't add _'Why can't you be more like this all the time?'_ , because it would be rude and would ruin the intimacy. Besides, after the grumbling, these moments felt even better. 

The medic gave another shudder and couldn't help moaning as Bulkhead's glossa slicked over his palm, shooting sharp, warm jolts of electricity through his systems that made his armor creak. It warmed him right down to his spark and he gave a weak smirk, tracing Bulkhead's jaw and rubbing a little more firmly at the joint. "Nice? You wish," he chuckled. It was meant mostly as a joke. Ironhide used to give him a hard time about that, too:

 _"Why you always gotta be such a grump?"_ He would say.

 _"Why do you have to be so stubborn?"_ Ratchet would snap back.

More caresses followed, energy fields mingled and Bulkhead kept on ignoring the warnings. It felt so _wonderful_ to have somebody else to touch, like floating in some deep pool of warm energon; feeling weightless and having nothing to worry about. He didn't make much noise aside a few moans and long whirring sighs. His spark was pulsing faster and stronger with each minute and the excess energy was building until there was no way back—the surge made the young wrecker to tense up, fingers twitching around Ratchet. 

If he had to die in the upcoming megacycle, Bulkhead thought, he'd die happily.

Ratchet's surge only barely followed, and he stopped trying to differentiate each stroke of contact after the first few moments. He'd been starved of company for long enough that he missed it dearly, especially after the wave of barnacles that had passed through the ship—oh, it had been the Pit trying to restrain himself, resolve backfiring on him in tremors and loss of motor control. It felt familiar and _comfortable_ , being with Bulkhead this way; although Ratchet was certain he wouldn't dare put Bulkhead through this again, not unless he wanted it, there were no immediate regrets.

Besides that, the surge was incredible. Ratchet's systems peeled heat and fried until his optics shorted offline, and he found solace in the following warmth against Bulkhead's larger frame, giving a few final moans/sighs as he recovered. His hands still gripped onto Bulkhead's thick silver fingers; his own were the first to heat up, and therefore were still quite warm, both because they were hot spots and because they were bodily extremities. The lingering warmth always left a tingling in the intricate circuitry there that Ratchet loved when the moment was over.

The green giant barely moved, merely steadied his elderly friend with his large arms. He enjoyed the lingering heat just as much, and the complete silence, disturbed only by humming vents, whirring fans and gasping intakes, was not uncomfortable at all. In fact...although Bulkhead had never experienced any thing like this before, it still felt oddly, comfortingly familiar; a fragment from the collective memory of an entire race, imprinted on their sparks at birth by the source of life and final resting place for all: the Allspark. 

When he finally found his voice again, the old medic smiled and gave Bulkhead's fingers a few last rubs. "Thank you, Bulkhead," he murmured quietly.

The wrecker shook his head and curled up a bit, around the medic. "It's nothing...I should thank you, Ratchet. You're just...amazing. Ironhide is definitely the luckiest mech in several galaxies."

Ratchet's faceplates heated a little and for a moment, he felt young again: a soft mixture of pride and embarrassment. "H-Heh...I hope he feels the same way," was all he said.

He didn't detach from the young mech right away, but he did eventually try to move, joints creaking. "It's late," Ratchet explained, sounding disappointed—because he was, really. He liked the contact. "We should get some recharge."

Bulkhead nodded, but after a little hesitation, he leaned closer to kiss the medic chastely on the faceplate. "Good night, Ratchet."

The medic smiled a little, and as he got back up onto his berth, rubbed Bulkhead's helm and the back of his neck lightly, in a soothing sort of manner. "Pleasant recharge," he murmured back.


	44. Hunter Spark 01

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm still quite proud of this; especially how it follows the episode dialogues verbatim)

"You won't find him that way." 

Lockdown turned sharply at the familiar, melodious voice and one of his mods—a chainsaw-like blade—targeted Prowl, but the punch was blocked by a shield. 

Hey...he knew that shield. The bounty hunter's optics widened a bit. The blasted cyberninja hadn’t just infiltrated his ship, he’d also managed to _sneak behind him_ , and even filch one of his trophies. 

He had to admit to himself, he liked that. 

Prowl stood firmly, keeping his ground with the shield up. He peeked at Lockdown from behind the shield, smirking a little smugly. "Hope you don't mind me borrowing one of your mods," he said. "But how about we not waste time this way while our quarry is escaping?"

"Wait a nano-klik..." Lockdown pulled back, frowning at Prowl. " _Our_ quarry...?" Wasn't he the bounty hunter here? Besides that, Prowl was pretty enraging—however, to his slight irritation, Lockdown had to admit that this just made him more interesting. The hunter, sparkless bastard and sadist that he was, still had some respect for skillful mechs...and Prowl was one of them. He had watched the entire fight with Starscream on Earth's Moon. It had been a great show. Of course, the ninja lacked real strength, but his agility and techniques left little to be desired. 

"You need to track Starscream's energy signature, right?" Prowl demanded. "I have the unique energy signature _you_ need," he pointed at Lockdown, "But you have the tracking device _I_ need."

"You've got some sparkplugs bustin' in there, I give you that," Lockdown said then he narrowed his optics. "So, you wanna play bounty hunter? Then you’d better be ready to go all way." He turned toward a shelf on which various trophies were stacked; including, among others, an attractive helmet mod.

Lockdown walked up to it. "I think we both know EMP and stasis cuffs ain't gonna cut with Starscream. But since you like my trophy-mods so much..." He took the helm. "Why not take a few more and do the job right?" He tossed it to the cyberninja. "That is...if you're bot enough to use 'em," he added, smirking wickedly. The helm once belonged to another martial artist long ago. That had been a tough hunt, and Lockdown still remembered it fondly. Several other pieces belonged to it, and as the bounty hunter imagined them on the slender dark frame...his energy fields buzzed up. Prowl had a nice aft, one had to admit.

Prowl caught the helmet and stared at it in his hands, feeling it out under his fingers. It even matched his paintjob, ironically enough. It seemed almost like the mods were especially there for him. He could tell he'd be able to do a lot with this. It looked like the helm of what the humans called a _samurai_.

He gripped it, and didn't look up at Lockdown. "Whatever it takes to get the job done, right?"

Lockdown smirked a bit, and motioned to Prowl to follow him. "Trust me on this one. I'll fetch the parts for ya. I have a complete armor here, a little boost for those jetpacks you have... Keep the shield, too. Any weapon preferences?"

"A compact blade might be good for quick attacks..." Prowl paused for a moment, smiling despite himself. He felt the need to shrug and say, "Surprise me."

"Hmm, I recall how you used a pipe against me the first time we met," Lockdown mused. He lifted a rod from a shelf; it unfolded, forming a staff. "This might just work, don't you think? I gotta admit, cyberninjas are pretty tough and have some skills. I like bots with a little spunk." He smiled, almost nicely. "You’re a good fighter, Prowl."

The compliment irked him still, a little bit. Prowl wasn't used to dealing with bounty hunters, certainly not used to hearing them speaking words of admiration. But he shrugged indifferently, taking it with all the manners he knew as he examined the staff. "You're not too bad yourself."

A throaty laugh answered him, and Lockdown placed the mods down. "Now, let's do this. Getting off this armor is fairly easy, but getting it on, that's tricky. I'll help you with it...the pieces for the thighs go first." He lifted one, and pressed it against Prowl's upper thigh, so it partly covered his hip, too. "You see those little clamps? They fit into the joint. Secure those first."

Prowl hesitated at Lockdown's close proximity, but he wouldn't allow the bounty hunter to see him so squeamish. So he nodded and did so, reaching down to loosen the joint so he could more easily secure the clamps before settling everything into place.

The armor was a little heavy, but not much so. He wouldn't be able to move quite as quickly as he was used to, but it would be a small price to pay to catch Starscream.

The hunter's good hand slipped upwards on the inner side of the ninjabot's thigh. "Now, the pressure locks. Just push the ends of the straps together, it'll click. Then we'll move upwards, to the shoulder pieces." Mmm; the armor under his hand was smooth and warm...it's been a while since Lockdown felt anything like that. Such slender legs, a nice paintjob, and that voice— _wow_. He was willing to make bets that the ninja moaned beautifully. The hunter guessed he didn't have much experience, either, so he'd gasp and squirm, too...

Prowl might have been a bit drunk with excitement at using such impressive mods...but he wasn't stupid. He picked up on the touches right away, and as he followed Lockdown's instructions, grew wary of the mech's hands. The bounty hunter was pathetically easy to read here, despite his track record of being a tricky hider.

He allowed the little brushes and strokes to go on for, really, not very much longer, even though Prowl had to admit it didn't entirely bother him. Of course, his spark warned him that he belonged to someone else—and besides that, Lockdown could easily plan to overpower him, to _hurt_ him—this wasn't something he should be enjoying.

But he was enjoying the weight of the armor on his shoulders, and Lockdown clearly admired him. Now Prowl knew what Bumblebee meant by the term "stroking someone's ego."

Lockdown's good hand was in the crevice of his neck this time, pretending (very poorly) to steady the locks as Prowl clicked them into place. He looked the bounty hunter straight in the optics. "Find something you like?"

As the minutes passed, Lockdown's respect for the cyberninja grew—other mech would have at least shown some signs of distress as when they were fondled like that, and Prowl never even flinched. That was really something. So the hunter didn't hesitate to sneak his arm around that slender waist and pulling the armored mech closer. "Well, funny, now that ya mention..." he purred, "You made me quite curious. You're a younger model; probably built at the end of the War, right? Those models can seldom stand so much teasing. You're more than meets the optic." His hook traced down on the chestplate. "You know about 'facin'. And, y'know, now that we're partners..."

It wasn't the request that surprised him, but the fact that Lockdown was requesting at all. Prowl couldn't help the flicker-blink in his optics and a snort as his vents skipped a cycle. "A bounty hunter with manners...? You're a rare type indeed."

He pushed the hook down—slowly, as if he were teasing. Maybe he was without meaning to as he smiled. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not 'easy'. Besides that, I'm spoken for."

Lockdown quirked an optic ridge but he took the hook away - not his hand though. "Oh, come on. I mean just some light fun! Your buddies don't need to know. Besides, back then, it wasn't frowned upon to be adventurous." He grinned. "I'll make it nice. Take it as an initiation ceremony or something; to seal our deal. There are very few bots I'd actually ask instead of just... " here, Lockdown couldn’t help a grin, "... _making_ them like it."

...When the hunter put it that way, Prowl figured him to be totally correct. _Making him like it_ was exactly what he'd expected of Lockdown in the first place, instead of this forward, polite, but rather demanding approach.

Prowl thought it over carefully. His spark quivered, warned him—images of Jazz flashed through his mind—but the mods, they fit nicely, and Lockdown, imposing in size though he was...felt too disturbingly right against Prowl's chassis. Still, he tried to be careful, glancing up at Lockdown with a stern warning in his optics.

"Force anything on me, and you'll be sorry you let me borrow your mods," he warned.

The hunter tilted his head to the side. "Still afraid of me? Or do you find me that disgusting, even when we're forged from the same materials...?"

"Not afraid. And I _did_ find you disgusting," Prowl admitted, emphasizing the past tense. "You tried to hurt my friends. You can see where I gained the impression."

Lockdown mocked offense. "You have no idea what kinda bounty there was on your gang leader's head! They thought you killed Megatron! It was just a job." He gave Prowl's back one single caress, stopping just above the ninjabot's aft. "You’re not gonna give in, are ya?" His energy fields flared. He was not the one to give up easily.

Prowl couldn't help the wry smile that came to his face; and his energy flushed wide right back, a prickly, inviting wash of mingling sensations daring Lockdown to try harder.

"You like a challenge. Work for it."

The ruby optics flashed up, and Lockdown stepped away. "That sounds better." He took the helmet from the shelf. "However, work first. Maybe I can prove myself during the hunt." He stepped closer and placed the finely crafted piece of armor on Prowl's head; and since he was there, he promptly pulled the cyberninja closer for one heated kiss. 

"That's for a little demonstration."

Prowl was a bit shaken by the suddenness, but recovered quickly, smirking wide. " _Rain check_ , as the humans say," he replied smoothly.

Lockdown grinned wide. "Couldn't have put it better myself."

+0+0+

"That slime-bucket Lockdown got away again," Ratchet grumbled as they stood in front of the warehouse after the bomb-loaded Starscream replicas exploded—thanks to Prowl's quick thinking, _above_ the city and not in it. However, as if it had been an answer to the comment, Prowl's com bleeped. 

"What do you want now, Lockdown?"

"How about that spark-to-spark now, partner?" The hunter's voice was almost warm. "I've been thinkin'. You an' I are kinda... kindred spirits. Like I said, you've got a gift, so how about you ditch those losers and go on business with me?"

Prowl couldn't help a light smile at the compliments. "Very flattering, Lockdown," he said as he looked down at the shield in his hand. "But I've decided over-modification is for weaker processors. It was fun playing with your toys for a while—but in the end, it just isn't me."

There was something in the ninja's voice...something distinctly familiar, and Lockdown knew he should know what it was, but too much time had passed since he last cared for it. "Aww, now, don't take it like that," he said with a frown. He felt angry. He knew he shouldn't have to. 

The cyberninja thought he might have heard a bit of hurt on the bounty hunter's voice, along with the indifferent anger. It was a sort of shame. After some time with the hunter, Prowl didn't have any doubt Lockdown might be able to find someone...if he weren't such a backstabbing sleaze and dropped the mods a little bit.

He had to be firm. "Do _not_ call me again," he said, "Unless you start to feel a strong urge to say hello to the Elite Guard." Prowl cut the transmission after that—because he had a feeling Lockdown's response might make him regret the words in an ironic twist of fate.

Lockdown leaned against the control panels of his ship, and his anger only grew as he saw his own fingers curl up and felt his spark twisting. Stupid, stupid kid. He was _gifted_. He had the knack to become good... maybe one of the best; maybe even...surpassing his master. The hunter shook his head to chase away the mental image of that armored frame, then snorted and walked to his cabinet to fetch some high-grade. 

He still had some time before heading off for another job...


	45. Hunter Spark 02

Prowl took the late-night patrol shift because it would give him some time to cool off: time to clear his processors and gather himself, remind himself who he really was. His moments spent with Lockdown weren't forgettable, of course—it was an interesting experience, and Prowl hadn't been lying about that. But he also hadn't been lying when he said it wasn't him.

He believed very strongly in his ninja code, and he would prefer above all to follow that rather than turn tail and hunt other mechs in a cowardly manner like Lockdown did.

The streets were peaceful, the night quiet; Prowl took pleasure in the alone time. He was speeding down a road, enjoying the solitude, when he suddenly spotted something; a flash of green, the roar of a unique engine. A heavy car zipped past him on the parallel, but higher road, flashing his headlights teasingly.

Instantly recognizing the customized chassis, Prowl wasn't sure if he felt annoyed or somehow intrigued. He thought he'd told Lockdown not to contact him again...

He allowed the heavier car to get a bit ahead of him as he sped up, but he weaved in and out of the roads, a map running through his mind.

They were finally, after a while, running parallel to each other on the same road. He flashed his headlights back—"I'm going to catch you", they seemed to say. 

He could hear Lockdown's laughter, his low, husky voice. 

The chase ended at a warehouse. It wasn't the hunter's ship, Prowl was sure of that; the chain was torn off from the back gate. Lockdown rolled in and disappeared inside. 

Ironically, it was the laughter, not the chase that baited the ninjabot to continue. Prowl followed the modified car into the warehouse, and kept his lights off as he transformed. He had good night-vision, thankfully, and he used that to his advantage, scanning the area for Lockdown as he took a few cautious steps into the warehouse.

"I thought I told you not to contact me?" he called out. 

"I didn't contact you," the amused voice came from somewhere; the cyberninja wasn't able to tell exactly what direction. "We merely crossed paths once again. I greeted you and you came after me. You'd like to arrest me now or something? What's the charge?" 

"Disturbing the peace," said Prowl. _My peace of mind_ , he thought to himself. 

"Hmm. I thought the Autobots don't lie," the hunter said and there was a noise behind and above Prowl, and the powerful green-black frame landed on the concrete floor, arms quickly reaching out to catch him. 

Being tuned to the whoosh of movement, Prowl ducked and swiveled around to face the bounty hunter. "How do you think I'm lying?" he wondered. 

"I was just driving around, enjoying this planet," Lockdown spread his hands innocently. "I wasn't causing trouble. In fact, I could get into some, for just joyriding; after all, Megatron is seriously pissed." 

Prowl made a noise. He guessed it wouldn't be worth explaining to Lockdown.

"What do you want?" 

Lockdown's faceplates tightened, "You."

He took a step forward, careful not to look threatening. It was quite a task, but he managed, somehow. "You do have a gift. You're an exceptional fighter; you could be one of the best. A hunter always has work and we don't have to follow anybody. Only hunters are truly free." He made a soft gesture. "You loved the mods. I could see that in you. They made you better, and you strive to be better." 

Prowl met optics with Lockdown. Even if the other had come at him threateningly, he wouldn't have been afraid. "The answer is still no, Lockdown," he replied quietly. "Maybe, in another life—if things had been different...but we're in this life, and this is how it is." 

"If it's the mods, forget them." Lockdown was closing id, optics burning. "I know mechs in hidin'; martial arts masters. Metallikato, Circuit-Su...you could learn from the best and the greatest. Think about it, Prowl; you deserve better." 

But Prowl shook his head. "This _is_ better, for me. I've finally found a position surrounded by others where I am happy and content." His spark pulsed rhythmically—calling out to the one who had claimed it, who was so far away. "I can't go back to being alone." 

The Hunter reached out and cupped the ninja's face. "Come with _me_." His vents were humming and his hand was warm against Prowl's cheekplates. Even his energy fields could be felt; he was probably not manipulating them on purpose, but they had a powerful radiation even under control. 

For a moment, Prowl offlined his optics, and lost himself in thought and in the thrumming of their mingling energies and the way Lockdown held his face.

He cogitated the "what if" scenario. What if he went with Lockdown? What if he'd never enlisted with the Autobots? What if he'd taken a different path, here or there; what if he and Lockdown _were_ partners?

Even Lockdown wasn't without his admirable traits, tricky and untrustworthy though he was—Prowl had seen a glimpse of them in the short time he spent with the other, and yes, it did make him wonder about many things. Maybe he would have been with Lockdown. Maybe he would have followed him, hunted other mechs with him. But not here...

Prowl brought his optics online again. "I'm sorry," he said, "But I already told you, my spark belongs to another." 

Anger flashed in the crimson optics, but only for a moment—then Lockdown blinked and raised an optic ridge. "You’re...bonded?" 

Prowl nodded in affirmation. 

The hunter's shoulder sagged a bit. Then, he leaned closer and pressed his lips against the ninjabot's. He was oddly gentle, not aggressive or demanding as one would have expected. 

He shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be giving Lockdown any sort of false hope.

But the contact...felt nice, and Prowl's contemplating had him in a bubble, momentarily separated from the real world. So he kissed back, lifting a hand to wrap around the wrist of Lockdown's that was lifted so the mech could cup a hand to his face. 

It didn't last long, but the intensity made up for it. 

The hunter pulled back, looking into Prowl's optics. "I hate when I can't get what I want," he said, his voice low, and the ninja just realized actually how nice it sounded; not melodious and soft like Jazz's, but with all its roughness, it was still nice to hear. 

"But I hate it even more when the thing I want can't be _fully_ mine." He took a step back. "You should've said." 

"I warned you back when we were working together," Prowl said calmly. Now he was the one who sounded hurt—guilty, even. "You didn't listen. Instead you insisted, and you said, 'It's not like your buddies need to know anything'." 

"Ya never said anything about being bonded," The hunter pointed out. "That's a whole different business. But anyway; suppose I really don't have a chance. Stay with your little friends then, but be aware; Megatron won't go easy on you once you'll confront." 

He was pretty certain of that already, but Prowl nodded anyhow. "Thank you for the warning." 

Lockdown grinned and gave the ninja a lazy salute. "So long, Prowl. Maybe we'll meet again one day." He transformed and drove off. 

He mulled over the whole situation on the way back to his ship, and by the time he left the atmosphere, heading toward his next destination, Lockdown was smiling to himself. Because he indeed hated when things weren't fully his...but if he didn't have to share him with somebody else anymore, Prowl could be his and his alone. 

His laughter echoed off the walls.


	46. Red Dawn

Grimlock had experienced very little in the waking world, especially in the way of emotion. Because of the circumstances of his birth, he was essentially a very young sparkling wrapped up in a very big body. Indeed, although he and the other Dinobots were fast learners—as they had to be, for they were mostly creatures of raw instinct and survival—Grimlock's behavior most often resembled an upset child throwing a temper tantrum. Sometimes Snarl, who followed in his leader's every tribal step, got wrapped up in these tantrums himself, and he and Grimlock would rage across the island together, throwing fire to the sky and roaring their heads off.

Swoop seemed to approach the situations a little more responsibly, and often ended up being the one slapping Grimlock and Snarl on their wrists and reining in control. He was as young as the rest of them, but more than both, appeared to take on a paternal sort of role. In the case of Grimlock, this also doubled as the role of a lover.

So it came as no surprise that two things happened upon Blackarachnia's arrival: Grimlock's first crush, and Swoop's inevitable jealousy. 

In the shadow of things, this caused several complications. For one, although Grimlock came to care for Swoop very much, he had a fascination with new things and an attention span that fluctuated on occasion. Blackarachnia was _very_ new, and besides that, very _pretty_. Grimlock was instantly smitten with her, and so were Swoop and Snarl, swept up in their leader's charisma for the lost half-organic femme. They found her exotic and enticing. It burned and froze their circuits when she "kissed" them, but she always smiled at them and praised them with a cool, purring voice, and she stroked Swoop's crest frequently, and Swoop _loved_ that.

But whenever Blackarachnia imposed on Grimlock, Swoop got territorial and grew conflicted. He allowed the game to go on for as long as he dared, even when Grimlock steadily paid less and less attention to him, devoting himself almost completely to the Spider Lady, because he saw how happy her presence made Grimlock. His Grimlock's happiness was important to Swoop.

It was _after_ the Spider Lady's disappearance that Grimlock's behavior became a problem. 

The smitten mech had never experienced emotions like sadness or spark-break until after Blackarachnia left. Grimlock treated her like a Goddess and worshipped her so completely that her leaving the island devastated him, and he tore up the edges of their territory again—not in anger, but in sorrow. Afterwards, he retreated for periods of time into a separate cave all by himself, and he isolated himself from Snarl and Swoop, getting vicious or just generally down-sparked whenever they approached...pining for his Goddess's return all the while. 

Snarl, having no leader, couldn't really find his place. He just slept or stared at Grimlock, hoping he'd come to his senses and do something; but the spark-broken T-Rex didn't show signs of improvement. So Snarl idly whittled his life away, practically. Sometimes, he grew frustrated enough to do something destructive, but the enthusiasm died off quickly, due to the Triceratops' rather short attention span and the fact that doing it alone was a lot less fun. 

Grimlock paid no attention to the surrounding world anymore. He lay late one evening on the lip of the island’s crater, where he could catch a glimpse of the shore where they found the beautiful Spider Lady, sort of hoping she'll get washed ashore again. She was such a wonderful thing, so pretty and so...painful, with those stingers, but so _hot_. She made Grimlock's insides burn just with a look, a swing of her hips, and the Dinobot leader howled from the pain of the loss. 

Mid-cry, Grimlock was interrupted by a familiar sonic screech. Swoop descended gracefully from the skies, with the usual flaunting of his flight capabilities, and transformed fluidly in the air to land beside Grimlock in robot mode. His optics were a bit narrowed, his jaw tightened. He looked hurt; upset. 

"What you Swoop want?" Grimlock growled, irritated. "Leave me Grimlock alone and play with stupid Snarl!" He let his head fall back to the ground with a loud thud. 

Swoop's faceplates contorted in a deep sneer and a testy hiss steamed out of his vocals, a sound that was alien to him because he had never been so livid as to use it up until now. He had his ball and chain in hand because Grimlock was a fair bit larger and stronger than him; Swoop didn't look forward to using it, he only had the feeling that it _might_ be a good idea to have it on hand.

That being said, his voice trembled with a low subsonic pitch that made the ground shiver under Grimlock's feet. "Me Swoop want you Grimlock stop acting like sparkling," he growled. "You Grimlock stupid one. You Grimlock think Spider Lady only one that matter. Forget about Swoop and Snarl. That hurt both!" 

Grimlock's answering roar actually started a small landslide, rattling the brightly colored Autobot ship wedged tightly into the cliff’s side. 

"Me Grimlock no sparkling!" The T-rex bellowed. "Me Grimlock loved Spider Lady! Now Spider Lady gone, me Grimlock's chest hurts! Me Grimlock want Spider Lady back!" He sniffed. Of course nothing else mattered! He felt so heavy now that the beautiful dark goddess left...it felt pointless to do anything when he couldn't hear that purring voce again and marvel at the curved frame.

Swoop balanced himself marvelously as the landslide threatened to take his slighter body, and at first opportunity, dropped to a crouch and swung his ball and chain. The chain wrapped around Grimlock's lower leg and the chains made dents in the great warrior's armor, locking it there. Swoop gave a sharp jerk to take Grimlock off his feet. It worked; the large Dinobot lost his balance and fell on his aft with a cry, visor starting to blaze—his mourning was interrupted, and he didn't like that. He lashed out with his clawed hand to discipline the flier. 

Swoop narrowly dodged most of the swing's weight, although Grimlock's claws did skim sharply along the top of one shoulder, which hurt quite a bit. But he didn't relent. He pulled on the chain as he climbed up onto Grimlock's fallen body, subsonic sneers and hisses ringing in the T-Rex's audios. He reached for one black crevice in Grimlock's shoulder and filched it with his claws, scraping along circuitry and armor seaming, just enough to teeter on that edge between pain and pleasure.

"Did Spider Lady love Grimlock like Swoop love Grimlock?" hissed Swoop in a demanding voice. He twitched his fingers on point. "Did Spider Lady love Grimlock back? Or did Spider Lady _use_ you Grimlock to get what she Spider Lady wanted?" Swoop had played along, but he wasn't that stupid. It took him all of a couple of days to realize that Blackarachnia had ulterior motives; especially when she pleaded and praised them into saving the human that had hurt them in the first place. He hadn't liked the idea at all, and it was in fact when his suspicions had begun to take root; but he'd been blinded by her beauty and her delicate touch upon his crest, and had let the game run far too long. 

"But me Grimlock love her!" the T-rex squirmed, trying to dislodge Swoop from him; he didn't like that strange feeling in his shoulder. Besides...when he thought about it, the flier was right. The beautiful Spider Lady was mean; she hurt them, used them, made them put up with the disgusting human creature again; she cuddled the big red car robot and then vanished. But still, Grimlock couldn't care less. All he knew was that he was hurting and wishing she'd come back, despite all the reasons he should have been angry with her. He couldn't be angry. 

At this Swoop's touch gradually lessened a bit; hurt swept through his face and his optics flickered sadly. He let go of the ball and chain a bit, leaning in close to Grimlock's face.

"You Grimlock love Spider Lady...more than you Grimlock love me Swoop...?" 

That got a reaction. Grimlock stilled, visor flickering. He...hadn't thought about that. How much did he love the Spider Lady, and how much did he love Swoop? Was there a difference between love and love? 

Now that he actually thought about it, there was. He loved sunbathing lazily on warm days, but when it rained, he loved to curl up against his comrades. He loved Snarl more than sunbathing. And he loved Swoop even more. It was a warm feeling. Loving the Spider Lady...that was burning. He wanted her attention all the time; he yearned for her touches so much it hurt. With Swoop, it was different. Swoop was always there and Grimlock never needed to ask for anything; or at least the flier didn't need much coaxing. 

"Me Grimlock not know," he blurted out finally. "Me Grimlock love Spider Lady. Me Grimlock also love you Swoop. Me Grimlock not sure of difference." 

Swoop eased a little more. But he didn't take his claws away from Grimlock's shoulder, continuing to pet and stroke the circuitry and armor at his whim. His voice lowered to a slow purr. "How Spider Lady make you Grimlock feel? How Swoop make you Grimlock feel?" He pointedly drew his claws over Grimlock's shoulder to one of the spikes on his back. "What different when Spider Lady or me Swoop touch you?" 

"You Swoop touch me Grimlock more," the leader grumbled. The Dinobots didn't learn how to lie. "You Swoop's touch not hurt. You Swoop come to me Grimlock and just touch and make feel good and overload. Spider Lady's touch burned and froze but...still was good. Me Grimlock not understand." 

Swoop cooed a soft trill and ran his claws in light strokes over Grimlock's shoulders and back spikes, over his chest and the deep concaves of armor curved over his broad shoulders beside his head on either side.

"Me Swoop have thought," he murmured. "Me Swoop think Spider Lady put bad stuff in system. She Spider Lady give kiss—bad stuff go in. Bad stuff feel good and make us Dinobots like Spider Lady. Make us Dinobots feel things we not always feel." 

"Mmmm..." It was getting hard to think. The flier's slender claws were touching all the right spots and Grimlock hadn't had a good overload ever since the pretty dark creature came to them. "Uhh...you Swoop could be right...but how make bad stuff go away?" If it _did_ go away, would it stop hurting? That was all he wanted.

Swoop shrugged. "Maybe bad stuff never go away. Maybe bad stuff go away by itself." He nuzzled Grimlock's chest and squeezed his back spikes, crooning into his armor. "Me Swoop think all you Grimlock need is reminder."

"You Swoop remind me Grimlock?" The big, powerful leader asked quietly, wrapping his large arms around the flier's slender frame, hesitantly brushing his own claws against the gracefully arching crest. He wanted things to be like before, before the pain...when there were no cold nights.

There was a low noise as Grimlock stroked the Pterosaur's crest and sound purred against the larger 'bot's armor. Swoop pushed his head up to nuzzle Grimlock's hand and scraped his claws over the crevices of armor hooked over the other's shoulders, crowing affectionately. "Yesss...me Swoop remind you Grimlock...remind warm nights and good overloads. Make bad stuff stop hurting."

The promise made Grimlock whine, and his free hand attacked the delicate wings with much enthusiasm, thus encouraging the flier to do more, touch more. Fire killed things and made the car-bots go away quickly...perhaps it'd indeed make the bad stuff go away, the fire of the overload, burning his insides. And besides...yes, the Spider Lady was pretty, but, on a certain way, so was Swoop. Not as curved or delicate, but his firm armor and angled frame made him look like a warrior, and Grimlock liked that. 

Upon the more frequent firm caresses to his wings, Swoop gave another low croon and offlined his optics to favor a shudder, drawing his claws and hands out over every sensitive surface on Grimlock's armor. He knew by now exactly where to touch, how to touch—Swoop could make the mighty warrior beneath him a melted pile of oil and energon with a few scrapes and a skim of his claws. He would remind Grimlock of this. He would make him remember that the Spider Lady was not the only one who could make him feel good—and that Swoop could do it _better_ , even. Anything that it would take to bring his Grimlock back from the poison clutches that had recently detached him from the pack. Their tribe was nothing without Grimlock, and Swoop was lonely without him. It was time to fix all of that; to make the balance right again.

And the leader was more than willing to be reminded. His frame shook from the strong sensations and his deep rumbling growls spread out into Swoop's frame as well. It felt so _good_ ; better in fact than anything the Spider Lady ever did to him. Grimlock writhed beneath his lover, trying to give just as much pleasure as he was receiving. It felt only fair. Actually, now that he thought back, the Spider Lady never let them touch her; she hissed and stung them when they tried. Swoop was so much nicer in that regard... 

The Pterosaur's systems heated up quickly, missing the familiar contact with his tribe leader. The cape of his wings fluttered and twitched at the particularly memorable strokes; every low growl was responded to with a pitched crooning noise. Swoop played with the spikes on Grimlock's armor and mapped the concave shoulder pieces with his hands, claws plucking sensitive circuitry when they reached the black crevices in the warrior's shoulders.

"Yesss...more," he hissed, nuzzling affectionately into Grimlock's neck and where the leader's hand would often press and rub his crest. "You Grimlock touch more. Me Swoop miss Grimlock so much..."

The T-rex knew he should apologize. He indeed neglected his two friends, his tribe...he was not a good leader. However, admitting any weakness was not an option. Instead, his touches turned firmer and the growling of his vents even louder, just like his moans and grunts emitting from his vocalizer. "You Swoop have me Grimlock now," he purred and nuzzled his lover fondly. The overload, that wonderful bright-hot thing, came closer with every stroke and he yearned for it. 

Swoop purred/hissed and he grew rougher just as Grimlock did, taking in sharp ventilations on the occasion, though any efforts to cool his systems ended in failure. He rocked forward into Grimlock's chassis, seeking closeness, attentions roughening enough that sparks spat against his claws when they skimmed circuitry and armor.

"Never let others have you Grimlock," Swoop hissed, whining as he neared his peak, system warnings a mere irritating siren at the back of his CPU. "You Grimlock mine, _only_ mine."

Normally, the Dinobot leader would have whacked the flier on the crest for claiming something like that— _he_ was the leader here, _he_ owned everything!—but in that moment, he didn't care. Grimlock's frame tensed and he howled as the telltale blue lightning arched over his frame, signaling an overload. His vents spat steam and his claws left shallow marks on Swoop's armor as the T-rex momentarily lost control over his own strength. 

He _really_ missed this. 

The hot red light of dawn began to spill over their heated frames as overload hit its peak. The sharp sensation of hollow valleys being dug into his wings was the final catalyst for Swoop to follow in his leader's wake, an elated sonic screech joining Grimlock's mighty roar. Heat exploded through his systems and lightning snapped and crackled over his armor like jagged threads. In the moments that followed, Swoop could only lie against Grimlock's larger form, spent and expelling clouds of steam from his vents, nuzzling the warrior's dark neck and making contented sounds.

Grimlock nuzzled back and his hands caressed the marked wings, as if trying to soothe the pain. "Me Grimlock...feel better," he admitted. "You Swoop did make some bad stuff go away. You Swoop heal me Grimlock." After a little hesitation, he added: "Heal me Grimlock more."

Swoop crooned and a wicked, but sincere sort of smirk split his faceplates, and he nestled into the crook of Grimlock's neck, stroking his armor spikes. "Yesss, me Swoop heal. Heal until Grimlock tired of it..."

He would make up for all of their lost time; every cold night, every bitter sting from the Spider Lady, all the bad memories and conflicts. Swoop would make it all seem like a nightmarish sleep to them. Because Grimlock was his leader, his lover, and he would do anything for him.

Grimlock let out a low, appreciative growl and caressed his lover's head. Then, he lifted his head a bit, pulling Swoop closer and brushed their mouths together. It wasn’t quite a kiss—but even so, it was better than those the Spider Lady had given.

Swoop remembered this maneuver from the Spider Lady and from Prowl. He agreed that it was better when it was Grimlock who gave it to him. He couldn't quite "kiss" right here because of his leader’s strong jaw, but Swoop was content just to press into it, comforted that it was Grimlock who was giving him these attentions. The sun bathed their warm frames in its fresh morning light, absorbing the heat of cooling passion for the process to repeat itself again.

It was the start of a good recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends Rubicon. I completely forgot that I did not post the last few chapters, so here they are. Thank you for the comments!


End file.
